Christine Rivera and the Chamber of Secrets
by rainbow-beaniegirl
Summary: Christine Rivera wakes up to find a strange man in her kitchen. Apparently, she's a witch, potatoes can talk, and something evil is lurking at her new school. *Superwholock Hogwarts crossover.*
1. Offended Potatoes and A New Life

Chapter One: Offended Potatoes and a New Life

"I didn't know potatoes could talk," she declared, "I didn't even know they were sentient!"

"There now, I think you've offended them," the British boy with messy black hair peered over the edge of his book, eyeing the grumpy looking lumps of plant root pitifully.

"They're not potatoes," the short, American boy with a rather large trench coat on seated himself next to her; "they're Mandrake roots."

Christine stared blankly at the sullen plant matter in front of her.

"Yeah, that doesn't really help me."

Earlier that week, Christine Rivera had woken up on the last day of school to find a peculiar man sitting at her kitchen table, talking to her parents.

"Um, who are you?" She inquired, rubbing her tired eyes and pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"Albus Dumbledore, headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," the man replied casually. Christine stared at him, and then at her parents, who nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm sorry," she faltered, "you're who, from what?"

"Albus Dumbledore, headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he repeated, the same ease in his voice, "why don't you come sit down?'

Christine took a sip from her coffee mug and slid into one of the kitchen chairs.

"Um, guys," she turned to her parents, "what's going on?"

"Well dear," her mother leaned in, "this man is from a school for young men and women with extraordinary powers. You're a witch!"

"I'm a what?" She turned towards the old man, "is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Definitely, a good thing," he chuckled, "don't worry."

"I'm not a five year old," Christine sighed, "I'll need a little more proof than your word of honor."

The headmaster pulled something that looked like a stick out of his robes and waved it in the air.

 _"Expecto Patronum!"_

A silvery bird-like animal emitted from the tip of his wand, flying around the room before fading into the air.

Christine sipped her coffee, unimpressed.

Dumbledore grinned at her reaction.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The mug full of coffee that Christine was holding suddenly rose into the air.

"Okay," she stared at the air born mug, "I believe you."

"Good," he smiled, "unfortunately there was a small error with your letter. It's getting harder to track muggle-borns and you were accidentally overlooked. That is why I am here in the summer. You have two options for your academic course. Either start with the 1st year class and learn with those younger than you or spend this summer being tutored by the lovely Professor McGonagall so you can attend your correct age group."

"Well, I don't have any summer plans," she shrugged.

From that peculiar scene, Christine was soon at a potion ingredients shop; staring hopelessly at the list she had been given. In order to begin her tutoring, she had been given some odd coins and a list of materials.

"Need some help?" She looked up to see a young boy, around her age, in an odd striped suit paired with sneakers.

"Oh, um, yeah, I have no clue what I'm doing?"

"Isn't it a little early to be shopping for school supplies?" He asked casually, taking the list from her.

"I'm… in a unique situation," she mumbled.

"How so?" He looked over the list.

"Apparently I wasn't sent my letter in time and since I'm not from a magic family I never knew," Christine sighed, "so now I'm tutoring with one of the professors to catch up for the 5th year."

"Oh dear, so you don't even know what house you're in?" He exclaimed, looking utterly scandalized by the idea.

"House…?" She trailed off, "Honestly, that Dumbledore guy was kinda sparse on details."

"House, you know, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff," he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I'm a Ravenclaw. Name's David, but my friends just call me The Doctor."

He stuck out his hand to shake, which she took.

"Odd nickname," she commented.

"Yeah, well I'm odd," he winked.

"What're the houses like?"

"Well Gryffindor is usually very brave people, Ravenclaw is smart people, Slytherin is ambitious people, and Hufflepuff is loyal people."

"What if you're none of those things?" Christine sighed, mulling over her good qualities in her mind, of which she thought there were very few.

"Everyone's one of those things," he winked again, "now let's help you get these stuff…"

The Doctor spent a lot of time explaining how Hogwarts worked to Christine, and crash coursing her in a lot of the material she would need to survive life in the castle. He told her about all the ghosts and moving pictures, it was so ridiculous Christine could hardly bring herself to believe him.

She plunked down in front of an odd plant display, next to the books section. A boy with messy black hair, who had been absorbed in a book, looked up at The Doctor and stood next to the display cage.

"Hello Doctor," he said coldly and returned to his book. Another boy in a trench coat waved frantically at him from another display cage labeled "devil's snare".

"What on earth are those ugly things?" Christine asked, pointing to the cage in front of her. The plants inside, which resembled mutated potatoes, suddenly looked up and made some rude gestures.

"Oh, look what you've done!" The Doctor leaned down, trying to appease the potatoes, who were muttering restlessly amongst themselves.

"I didn't know potatoes could talk," she declared, "I didn't even know they were sentient!"

"There now, I think you've offended them," the British boy with messy black hair peered over the edge of his book, eyeing the grumpy looking lumps of plant root pitifully.

"They're not potatoes," the short, American boy with a rather large trench coat on seated himself next to her; "they're Mandrake roots."

Christine stared blankly at the sullen plant matter in front of her.

"Yeah, that doesn't really help me."


	2. Ice Cream

Chapter Two: Ice Cream

It had been an exhausting day, The Doctor showed Christine around most of Diagon Alley, helped her buy all she needed, and now they were eating at a small shop as the sun was setting. The boy with the trench coat had joined them. He was rather odd and seemed to take everything literally, but he was likable. The Doctor referred to him as "Cas", but Christine had no idea what his full name was. The British boy, on the other hand, had rather apathetically refused to even talk to anyone (especially The Doctor, for some reason) and had hidden his face in a large, dusty book.

"Shirley?" The Doctor had whined, "Don't be such a wet blanket."

The boy's eyebrow had raised slightly but he didn't take his eyes off his book, therefore we had left him in the ingredients shop.

The sky was a dusty red, spotted with a creamy pink from the clouds. Christine sighed as she watched the people hurrying to their destinations. So many oddly dressed, strange package carrying, impossibly old, impossibly short, and impossibly tall people filled the crooked streets.

"So, what house do you think I'm in?" Christine asked Cas and The Doctor, turning to face them. Cas rested his head on his hands and squinted his eyes at her, The Doctor raised his eyebrows and put on his glasses, she noticed he seemed to do that whenever asked a difficult question.

"Hufflepuff."

"Ravenclaw."

They both made these decisive statements at the exact same moment.

"So… in other words, you have no idea?"

"It's natural that Cas would think you're a Hufflepuff since he's one. Hufflepuff's aren't very intelligent, not to say anything against you Cas, so he would be rather biased in his choice. However, as a Ravenclaw, I'm obviously right," The Doctor said in a self-satisfied manner, leaning back and resting his feet on the table. Cas rolled his eyes and ignored him.

"Hey, Cas! Where've you been?" A very tall shadow suddenly appeared behind Christine, followed by an even taller shadow. She turned around to see two boys, one with a short haircut, the other with a longer one, both dressed in strange looking robes.

"Why're you in your robes already?" The Doctor peered at them, "a few months too early, don't you think?"

"You get treated as a priority at stores when people know you're from Hogwarts," the taller one shrugged.

"Gotta be clever about these things, Doc," the shorter one tapped his head and smiled smugly, The Doctor looked repulsed at being called "doc".

"Dean, you're hardly ever clever, that's usually Sam," Cas stated simply. Christine let out a small laugh, which made Dean and Sam looked at her for the first time. Dean made a face and elbowed Sam knowingly, to which Sam sighed and stuck out his hand.

"Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean," he said, she took his hand and shook it.

"Christine Rivera," she replied.

"Hogwarts? You look about 5th year age, but I've never seen you before."

"Oh yeah, it's a long story, but I'm starting a little late," she muttered.

"Ah, right into the 5th year?" Dean looked at her pitifully, "that's gonna be impossible."

"Shut up Dean," Sam said, "I'm sure you'll do fine," he smiled.

"Thanks, I'll be getting tutoring over the summer before school starts," Christine took another bite of her ice cream, "what houses are you two?"

"I'm Gryffindor, Sam's Ravenclaw," Dean said.

"What about you?" Sam asked.

"Oh, I don't know yet," Christine shrugged, "The Doctor told me about the sorting hat thingy, so she guess I'm going to have to do that."

"Wow, you don't know?" Dean laughed, "Here's to hoping it's Gryffindor!" He winked and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Just hope it's not Slytherin," Cas commented gruffly.

"What's wrong with Slytherin?"

"Well, they don't really get a good reputation, most of them are pretty…unpleasant," Sam said carefully, "they tend to be kind of full of themselves."

"That kid you met at the bookstore is one," The Doctor said, "prime example, but for some reason, his boyfriend is a Gryffindor."

"Sherlock and John are not in a relationship," Cas said matter-of-factly, "everyone knows that John and Mary are dating."

"I, for one, think it's all a sham," Dean asserted, "that's exactly what they want you to think."

Cas looked unimpressed and went back to eating his ice cream.

"Well, we've got to get going. Was nice meeting you," Same nodded to Christine, who smiled back. Cas scrambled out of his seat and soon the three of them were walking off into the distance.

"Well, I hope you survive the summer training," The Doctor stood up and checked his watch, "I'm expected home soon, so I guess I'll see you around."

"Bye then," Christine stood up and gave him a hug, "thanks for saving me from drowning."

"Anytime," he winked, sauntering off into the distance.

Christine stood there, with several large packages, burning with questions but with no one to answer them. She pulled out her list and looked at what The Doctor had left for her to get by herself. A wand, maybe a pet, and a broomstick if she wanted to play Quidditch (whatever that was). What Christine was most interested in was the wand.

The Doctor had told her all about how the wand chose the wizard, the very idea of being able to perform magic with a little stick meant for her alone was exciting and terrifying at the same time. Ollivander's – that was the place everyone said was the best for wands, so she found herself entering the strange, dimly lit shop.

An old man was at the desk, talking with another young person, presumably another Hogwarts student.

"It's been extremely frustrating, I can't figure out why it's blocking," he said, the old man nodded.

"Perhaps," he began, "you need a new one. It's rare, but not unheard of. When a person undergoes a great loss in their life their wand type may change."

The boy sighed, rifling through his change purse.

"How much will it cost?"

"Just trade in the old one," the old man said casually, then looking up he ushered Christine forward. She walked over next to the boy, who she recognized as the Slytherin from the ingredients shop.

"Oh, hey," she said awkwardly, "don't believe we've been properly introduced, we met at the shop?"

"Hello," he disinterestedly returned her salutations, not bothering to make eye contact.

The old man was busy looking through strange shoeboxes lining the walls in seemingly endless numbers.

"I'm new to Hogwarts," she began, trying to start up a conversation.

Sherlock threw a side-glance at her, then began to speak very quickly.

"Your name is Christine, you are a muggle-born and have never been to Hogwarts despite your age. I assume there was an oversight in sending your letter. You don't know anything about the wizarding world, you don't know which house you're in, and you've never used a wand. You're either a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin, your father is a drunkard and your mother is a little too nice for her own good," he took a short breath, "you have no brothers or sisters and recently moved to a new town so you don't have any friends."

Christine was more than a little ruffled by this.

"I may not know much about the wizardly world, but I can tell you that you have narcissistic personality disorder if you think you can sum up a person in one long-winded rant after knowing them for 1 minute."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow, turning and finally making eye contact with her.

"Sherlock Holmes," he extended his hand.

"Christine Rivera," she shook it.


	3. A Train Ride

Chapter Two: Ice Cream

It had been an exhausting day, The Doctor showed Christine around most of Diagon Alley, helped her buy all she needed, and now they were eating at a small shop as the sun was setting. The boy with the trench coat had joined them. He was rather odd and seemed to take everything literally, but he was likable. The Doctor referred to him as "Cas", but Christine had no idea what his full name was. The British boy, on the other hand, had rather apathetically refused to even talk to anyone (especially The Doctor, for some reason) and had hidden his face in a large, dusty book.

"Shirley?" The Doctor had whined, "Don't be such a wet blanket."

The boy's eyebrow had raised slightly but he didn't take his eyes off his book, therefore we had left him in the ingredients shop.

The sky was a dusty red, spotted with a creamy pink from the clouds. Christine sighed as she watched the people hurrying to their destinations. So many oddly dressed, strange package carrying, impossibly old, impossibly short, and impossibly tall people filled the crooked streets.

"So, what house do you think I'm in?" Christine asked Cas and The Doctor, turning to face them. Cas rested his head on his hands and squinted his eyes at her, The Doctor raised his eyebrows and put on his glasses, she noticed he seemed to do that whenever asked a difficult question.

"Hufflepuff."

"Ravenclaw."

They both made these decisive statements at the exact same moment.

"So… in other words, you have no idea?"

"It's natural that Cas would think you're a Hufflepuff since he's one. Hufflepuff's aren't very intelligent, not to say anything against you Cas, so he would be rather biased in his choice. However, as a Ravenclaw, I'm obviously right," The Doctor said in a self-satisfied manner, leaning back and resting his feet on the table. Cas rolled his eyes and ignored him.

"Hey, Cas! Where've you been?" A very tall shadow suddenly appeared behind Christine, followed by an even taller shadow. She turned around to see two boys, one with a short haircut, the other with a longer one, both dressed in strange looking robes.

"Why're you in your robes already?" The Doctor peered at them, "a few months too early, don't you think?"

"You get treated as a priority at stores when people know you're from Hogwarts," the taller one shrugged.

"Gotta be clever about these things, Doc," the shorter one tapped his head and smiled smugly, The Doctor looked repulsed at being called "doc".

"Dean, you're hardly ever clever, that's usually Sam," Cas stated simply. Christine let out a small laugh, which made Dean and Sam looked at her for the first time. Dean made a face and elbowed Sam knowingly, to which Sam sighed and stuck out his hand.

"Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean," he said, she took his hand and shook it.

"Christine Rivera," she replied.

"Hogwarts? You look about 5th year age, but I've never seen you before."

"Oh yeah, it's a long story, but I'm starting a little late," she muttered.

"Ah, right into the 5th year?" Dean looked at me pitifully, "that's gonna be impossible."

"Shut up Dean," Sam said, "I'm sure you'll do fine," he smiled.

"Thanks, I'll be getting tutoring over the summer before school starts," Christine took another bite of her ice cream, "what houses are you two?"

"I'm Gryffindor, Sam's Ravenclaw," Dean said.

"What about you?" Sam asked.

"Oh, I don't know yet," Christine shrugged, "The Doctor told me about the sorting hat thingy, so she guess I'm going to have to do that."

"Wow, you don't know?" Dean laughed, "Here's to hoping it's Gryffindor!" He winked and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Just hope it's not Slytherin," Cas commented gruffly.

"What's wrong with Slytherin?"

"Well, they don't really get a good reputation, most of them are pretty…unpleasant," Sam said carefully, "they tend to be kind of full of themselves."

"That kid you met at the bookstore is one," The Doctor said, "prime example, but for some reason, his boyfriend is a Gryffindor."

"Sherlock and John are not in a relationship," Cas said matter-of-factly, "everyone knows that John and Mary are dating."

"I, for one, think it's all a sham," Dean asserted, "that's exactly what they want you to think."

Cas looked unimpressed and went back to eating his ice cream.

"Well, we've got to get going. Was nice meeting you," Same nodded to Christine, who smiled back. Cas scrambled out of his seat and soon the three of them were walking off into the distance.

"Well, I hope you survive the summer training," The Doctor stood up and checked his watch, "I'm expected home soon, so I guess I'll see you around."

"Bye then," Christine stood up and gave him a hug, "thanks for saving me from drowning."

"Anytime," he winked, sauntering off into the distance.

Christine stood there, with several large packages, burning with questions but with no one to answer them. She pulled out her list and looked at what The Doctor had left for her to get by herself. A wand, maybe a pet, and a broomstick if she wanted to play Quidditch (whatever that was). What Christine was most interested in was the wand.

The Doctor had told her all about how the wand chose the wizard, the very idea of being able to perform magic with a little stick meant for her alone was exciting and terrifying at the same time. Ollivander's – that was the place everyone said was the best for wands, so she found herself entering the strange, dimly lit shop.

An old man was at the desk, talking with another young person, presumably another Hogwarts student.

"It's been extremely frustrating, I can't figure out why it's blocking," he said, the old man nodded.

"Perhaps," he began, "you need a new one. It's rare, but not unheard of. When a person undergoes a great loss in their life their wand type may change."

The boy sighed, rifling through his change purse.

"How much will it cost?"

"Just trade in the old one," the old man said casually, then looking up he ushered Christine forward. She walked over next to the boy, who she recognized as the Slytherin from the ingredients shop.

"Oh, hey," she said awkwardly, "don't believe we've been properly introduced, we met at the shop?"

"Hello," he disinterestedly returned her salutations, not bothering to make eye contact.

The old man was busy looking through strange shoeboxes lining the walls in seemingly endless numbers.

"I'm new to Hogwarts," she began, trying to start up a conversation.

Sherlock threw a side-glance at her, then began to speak very quickly.

"Your name is Christine, you are a muggle-born and have never been to Hogwarts despite your age. I assume there was an oversight in sending your letter. You don't know anything about the wizarding world, you don't know which house you're in, and you've never used a wand. You're either a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin, your father is a drunkard and your mother is a little too nice for her own good," he took a short breath, "you have no brothers or sisters and recently moved to a new town so you don't have any friends."

Christine was more than a little ruffled by this.

"I may not know much about the wizardly world, but I can tell you that you have narcissistic personality disorder if you think you can sum up a person in one long-winded rant after knowing them for 1 minute."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow, turning and finally making eye contact with her.

"Sherlock Holmes," he extended his hand.

"Christine Rivera," she shook it.


	4. A Feast Fit for Students

Chapter Four: A Feast Fit for Students

"No way," Christine gasped, entering the large dining hall. The lights on the ceiling had her staring like a young child.

"Ah, Miss Rivera," Professor McGonagall approached her, "just as we discussed during our lessons when I call your name, you will sit on the stool and the sorting hat will choose a house for you. No need to worry."

The professor smiled reassuringly but Christine's insides churned. The way Sam and The Doctor had talked about the assumptions made off houses was a little more than scary. The whole room would know what house she was in, and would then judge her off it… She seated herself next to the group of 1st years, feeling a little comfort in knowing that most of them were as nervous as she was.

After a long series of names that were not hers, at last, the sound of "Christine Rivera" nearly caused the girl to faint. She stumbled up to the small stool, placing the hat on her head like everyone else. Suddenly she heard a small voice in her mind.

"Well, isn't this an odd collection in here," the voice said, "hmm…"

It was silent for a good minute, the room was still and full of tension, no one else had taken this long.

 _"What house am I?"_ She questioned this voice in her head, the voice snickered back.

"That's not a very easy question to answer…"

The hat had been sitting on her head for so long now that mutters and whispers were breaking out through the room, under the brim of the hat Christine saw Professor McGonagall walking towards her.

"Is something the matter?" She questioned the hat, a small slit opened and the hat spoke aloud.

"She doesn't have one house, Professor, she has two."

Apparently, this was unheard of, as the entire room erupted into gasps and whispers.

"SILENCE!" The booming voice of Albus Dumbledore brought the room to a standstill.

"Which two houses?" The Professor stuttered. Christine had turned bright red and was wishing desperately she had just been normal like everyone else.

"Slytherin and Ravenclaw."

"Can't you just pick one?"

"That is not how it works," the hat declared.

Everyone looked at Dumbledore, who slowly arose and walked to a small podium.

"I would like everyone to welcome Miss Christine Rivera, our first Ravenclaw-Slytherin."

The room irrupted into applause. Christine felt a little dizzy, scanning what she had learned was the Slytherin table and Ravenclaw table. The faces of the few friends she had made were shocked, except Sherlock, who was smiling smugly.

 _"I guess he was right,"_ she thought, dazed.

"You may sit at either table tonight," McGonagall said, almost as if she was asking the hat.

"Indeed," the hat replied.

Christine's eyes rested on the Slytherin table, which was the closest. In order to avoid falling down as she walked she stumbled off the stool and toward the Slytherin table.

The Slytherin house burst into loud cheers, louder than they had for other Slytherins, she supposed getting the weird new kid was an accomplishment. She glanced over at The Doctor at the Ravenclaw table, who shrugged at her.

Christine seated herself next to Sherlock and let out a huge sigh.

"You were 100% right."

"He always is," a girl sitting across from me laughed, "I'm Mary."

"Nice to meet you," Christine took a long drink from the mug in front of her, suddenly realizing how hungry she was.

"Shirley, didn't know you were talking to females?" Mary teased. Sherlock looked up from a book he was reading, he always seemed to be reading.

"Female?" He turned to me, "Oh, I hadn't noticed."

"Makes sense," Christine agreed, "these robes are very baggy."

Someone separated from another part of the Slytherin table and came over, plopping down between her and Sherlock, pushing him aside.

"Now, tell me, what about the betrayal and evilness we are known for made you choose Slytherin? Was it the cute boys? Because I'm the only one."

"And you are…?"

"This is Gabriel," Sherlock peered around his shoulder, "a huge prick."

"Oh, you're just being a baby, you love me," Gabriel ruffled Sherlock's hair. He looked about ready to bite his head off at this.

"Sherlock's not capable of love," Mary put in, her mouth full of chicken wing, "John and I have a bet going that he'll figure out how to legally marry a book someday."

"Well," Gabriel pulled an apple from the table and bit into it, "if you ever get bored, I'll be around."

* * *

"And the password is Toadstool," the prefect finished, leading the group of Slytherins into the common room.

When Christine entered she was met by a gloriously furnished room; the walls were of stone, but they were draped in a calming and beautiful silver and green. The shadows of a welcoming fire danced along the walls. The leather couches were draped in fuzzy looking blankets and throw pillows. Large tables drowning in books and papers filled one end of the room, while two winding staircases were on the opposite end.

"Girls on the right, boys on the left," Mary pointed out to me, "your packages are already up there."

She followed Mary into her room. It was beautiful, the sheets were silver silk and the bed covers were a soft green comforter. She collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"The prefect told me that this room is extra, because of your two house thing. The professors will be setting up a portal only you can enter to your Ravenclaw room. So you've got this place all to yourself."

"Wow," Christine sighed, "I can't believe this is my life now.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Mary laughed.

"Can she go sit by the fire, or do she have to stay up here?"

"You can go sit by the fire if you want, just don't leave the common room past curfew."

Christine changed into an oversized sweater and some leggings. Armed with some cozy slippers and a cup of tea she sat by the fire. She stared the flames for hours, holding her teacup and sipping it until it got cold. Her head was buzzing with too many thoughts and ideas to sleep.

"Fancy finding you here," the quiet voice of Sherlock started Christine from a reverie concerning dueling and cats. She put down her cold teacup and looked up at him. He was holding a violin in one hand and a bow in the other.

"It's like two in the morning, how are you going to play the violin?" She asked, astonished.

"Actually, it's half past one," he corrected her, "and I learned a sound bubble spell to practice my instrument in peace."

He seated himself in an armchair and with a wave of his wand and some words Christine didn't understand, an invisible force surrounded him like plastic, he then began to play the violin, but she heard nothing. After looking him for a few second, Christine reached her hand through the weird plastic barrier. It felt like passing her hand through ice cold water. She pushed herself through it and leaned against the side of the armchair, listening to the music.


	5. From Snake to Raven

Chapter Five: From Snake to Eagle

"Well you look wonderful," a sarcastic voice awoke Christine from a pleasant dream concerning broomsticks and peanut butter. She grumbled and rubbed her eyes as the face looking down at her came into focus.

"Thanks, Mary," she scoffed and sat up in bed, Mary was already dressed in her robes.

"So, do we have classes today?" She asked, panicking slightly.

"Nope, this year the first day happened to be a Saturday," Mary smiled, "so we're good."

"Thank God," Christine collapsed back into bed, "this has been an extreme week."

"I'd imagine," another girl, who Christine had met briefly at the feast the night before, commented from the doorway, "I can't imagine changing your life from a muggle to a witch in one week."

"Neither of you are muggle-borns then?"

Mary and Delia exchanged knowing glances.

"There are usually almost no Slytherin muggle-borns," Mary said slowly, as if choosing her words carefully, "Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of this school, was rather biased against muggle-born and half-blood wizards and witches, he claimed that pure-bloods were the only ones deserving of magical knowledge."

"Pure-bloods?" Christine rolled out of her bed and made her way to the bathroom, "half-bloods?"

"Pure-bloods are witches and wizards who are 100% magical, without any muggle in their blood, half-bloods usually have a muggle parent and a pureblood parent, or a muggle born and a pureblood, or possibly two half-bloods."

At this point, her head was spinning.

"That's… complicated. But that's not a thing any more; no one cares about the blood stuff, right?"

Once more, they exchanged looks.

"Well…" Delia sighed, "Most sane people don't, but there are those old pure-blood families who still think like that."

"I bet Sherlock is among them," Christine said, washing her face in the sink.

"Interestingly enough, you and Sherlock are the only two muggle-borns in the Slytherin house," Mary put in, leaning on the bathroom door.

She was a little taken aback, so he also had been shoved into the magical world suddenly.

"What're you guys?"

"We're both pure-bloods," Mary said, "so is Gabriel."

"Huh," she rested her head on her hands, "so is there anyone I should avoid? People who actually still care about the blood thing?"

"There's Crowley, Lucifer, and Michael. Lucifer and Michael are twins; they come from an extremely prestigious family, Michael's a little nicer, but a little weird," Delia peered in.

"Lucifer is a huge turd," Mary stated simply.

"And Crowley?"

Mary and Delia snorted.

"He talks like he's from the most important pure-blood family of all, but everyone's convinced he's a half-blood. Never actually talks about his family," Mary walked over to the mirror, fixing her blonde hair, "except he claims his mother is "Rowena" like anyone believes him."

"Who's Rowena?" Christine wiped her face with a towel and began brushing out her tangled blonde hair.

"Super famous evil pure-blood witch, absolutely legendary."

"That's not really something to be proud about, is it?" She laughed.

Mary shrugged.

"Anyhow, I'm going to take a shower," Christine started the water, "I'll see you later."

* * *

Christine plopped onto the couch next to Mary, who was reading a book.

"Whatcha reading?" She peered over her shoulder at the crisp new book in her hands.

"Looking over this year's readings," Mary replied, writing some notes in the margins, "you should go look in on the Ravenclaw house before people think you've turned evil."

"True, The Doctor didn't look very happy that I'd gone to the Slytherin table first," she commented, at which Mary scoffed.

"Take my advice, stay away from that prick, he may seem all harmless on the outside, but trust me when I say he's not the best. You want an example of a pureblood family who hates muggle-borns? You got one right there – so watch out."

Christine was a little shocked; he seemed to be the friendliest and most helpful person she had met so far.

"Huh," she thoughtfully twiddled with her robe sleeve, "well thanks for the warning."

Christine arose and headed to the door, feeling overwhelmed and confused by the people and things around her. She strolled through the hallways, hoping to find someone who could point her in the direction of the Ravenclaw common room.

"This place should have signs," she muttered restlessly to herself as she turned another corner. The walls along the passage were lined with paintings and suits of armor; she slowly strolled past them, and soon realized that the figures in the paintings seemed to be moving. Christine carefully approached one, a portrait of a man with glasses and a large nose who looked fast asleep; she hesitantly poked at the canvas.

"Good Lord!" The man started violently and awoke, staring at her in an alarmed fashion, "how dare you awaken me, foolish child!"

"Oh, um sorry," she hastily apologized, not knowing what else to do, "I didn't know you were alive… I thought you were just a painting."

The man in the painting looked absolutely affronted by this, and, with an imperial sniff, he walked off the side of the canvas. She stared wide-eyed at the empty picture frame.

"How on earth?" She muttered, peering over at the next-door canvas, where the large-nosed man was conversing with a beautiful Greek woman. She suddenly recalled The Doctor telling her about the living paintings.

"Let me guess, a muggle-born?" A haughty voice broke the silence, causing Christine to start violently, much like the man in the picture had. She turned around to see a girl in Slytherin robes, around her age, who was staring at her with eyes like daggers.

"Um, yeah," she said uncomfortably, "I'm trying to go to the Ravenclaw common room, just to pop in and see how it is."

"I'm Irene," she replied shortly.

"Christine," she shrunk back involuntarily, Irene's eyebrow raised slightly.

"Yes, you're the girl of two houses," she walked slowly around the girl, like a lion stalking its prey, "how interesting."

"Oh, glad people have already come up with a catchy nickname for me," she tried to lighten the weird mood. Irene didn't even smile.

"Well, follow me, I've been to the Ravenclaw common room a few times," she sighed, as if helping anyone was a great annoyance, and then she proceeded to walk off at a brisk pace. Christine stumbled after her.

Through several more hallways and a few rather dangerous staircases, Irene led her without saying a word, until at last, she stopped in front of an enormous oak door with a beautifully carved iron eagle as the knocker. As she looked at the door expectantly, the eyes of the bird fluttered open and fixed on Christine.

"What word in the dictionary is spelled incorrectly?" A silvery and melodic voice escaped the beak of the creature.

"Ravenclaw students have to answer riddles," Irene checked a small watch on her wrist, "get it right and you can enter."

Christine tapped her foot nervously, not knowing what to say.

"But…" she turned around to talk to Irene, but she had disappeared.

"Oh, great," sighing deeply, she turned to face the carved eagle once more, "it's a dictionary, nothing's spelled incorrectly."

The eagle repeated its question.

Christine sighed, mulling over the riddle in her head.

 _It's got to be some sort of trick question._

Then, snapping her fingers she realized, "Oh! It's the word incorrectly."

"Correct!" The voice sang.

Christine grinned as the door swung open to reveal the Ravenclaw common room. She stepped in as the door swung shut behind her, scanning the room for people she knew.


	6. Eagles of a Feather

Chapter Six: Eagles of a Feather

"Christine!" Sam yelled to her across the room, running up, "There you are! We've been waiting for you to stop by! Professor Flitwick came by and dropped these off for you. Also, the portal has been set up in your room. It doesn't work past curfew though."

He dropped a soft package wrapped in brown paper into her hands; she noticed a little note attached to it, which read:

 _"Specially designed for you. -_ _Professor Albus Dumbledore_ _."_

"There are some more things in your room," Sam gestured to a stairwell on the right side of the common room, "why don't you come sit with us and open it up?"

"Sounds great," Christine smiled, putting the package under her arm and following him to a table around which were seated The Doctor and a few other people she didn't recognize.

"Hey," she slid into an empty chair, placing her package on the table. The Doctor looked up and nodded curtly at her.

"Mycroft Holmes," a prestigious sounding young man reached his hand across the table, which Christine shook awkwardly.

"Sherlock's brother, right?"

Mycroft seemed extremely unamused and sighed deeply.

"So, you've already met dear old Shirley," he leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his wavy hair, "I suppose he's said wonderful things about me."

"Oh, yes," Christine affirmed, "called you a huge prick."

The Doctor snorted from behind his book, Mycroft shot a look at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Shirley's the prick if anyone," Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"You're both pricks," a girl to the right of Christine interjected. She could hardly hold back a laugh at the look Mycroft cast in her direction. Sam hastily redirected the conversation to avoid a fight between the two.

"So, Christine, what's in the package from Flitwick?"

"Oh," she lifted up the parcel, weighing it gingerly in her hand, "well, let's see."

She tore into the brown paper, pulling a folded bundle of fabric from it. Upon further investigation, she found it was a set of Hogwarts robes; however, where normally a singular house badge was, the Slytherin and Ravenclaw badges were split down the center, joining into one. In addition, the tie was blue and green, and the inside was silver.

"Wow," she gasped, holding up the robes as to see them better.

"Why don't you go try them on," Sam leaned forward, staring at the robes also, "Martha, why don't you show her to her room."

The girl uncrossed her arms and sighed.

"Follow me," she led the way up a staircase similar to the one in the Slytherin common room.

"I'm Martha, by the way, Martha Jones," she showed me into a room, "I suppose you already know, but you've got a room to yourself because of the whole portal business."

"Christine," she smiled, entering after her, "Christine Rivera."

Christine looked about in awe; the room was completely different from her Slytherin room. The walls were red brick, lined with bookshelves and paintings. A large bed was centered in the room – a four-poster queen-sized one with blue silk covers draped over it. To the right the door of the bathroom was half-open, revealing a porcelain tub and sink, while to the left a small stairwell winded upwards and out of sight, several chains were lined across the entrance.

"Where does that stairwell go?" Christine asked.

"Oh, we're not allowed to go up there," Martha replied, walking over to it and peering up, "this room wasn't originally going to be used, but there were too many students this year."

"I wonder what's up there," Christine joined Martha in looking up it.

"Who knows," Martha looked at her with an obvious mischievous glint in her eyes, "perhaps some magical treasure. But it's all warded so no one can enter, so no sneaking in."

She sounded very disappointed by her own words as if she had genuinely been planning on sneaking up the stairwell at some point.

Christine changed in the bathroom and the two returned to the group at the table. The Doctor and Mycroft were invested in what looked like a game of chess, except the pieces were all moving of their own accord.

Christine plopped down next to Sam and watched the game. She was so used to ridiculous things such as paintings moving and potatoes talking that live chess pieces were hardly something unexpected. Sam, Martha, and she all yelled encouragement for The Doctor as Mycroft looked half amused, half annoyed as they both removed all of the other's pieces until they were left with just kings.

"Well," The Doctor leaned back in his chair, "tie once again, really Mycroft, change it up for once and lose."

Mycroft smiled sourly, "I would ask the same of you," once more running his fingers through his hair, as he was apt to do.

"I hope one of these days you go bald," Martha commented, "so you can't keep stroking your hair like it's a goddamn cat."

Mycroft looked extremely offended and lowered his hand shamefully.

Suddenly a large tawny owl flew to the nearby window, a large letter in its beak. It tapped expectantly at the glass, Sam ran over and opened it up, and the bird released the letter and flew away.

"It's to you," Sam handed me the letter, "from Dumbledore."

"Why is the Headmaster sending _you_ a letter?" Mycroft pompously inquired, peering over at me as she unfolded the parchment, it read:

 _Dear Miss Rivera,_

 _As you have not had the ability to learn any Quidditch due to your late start at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after-school training each Saturday has been kindly offered by the Gryffindor team captain, the elder Mr. Winchester. Send a reply promptly so that affairs may be put in order._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Professor Albus Dumbledore_

"We all await the news with great impatience," Martha said as Christine placed the letter down, "or at least mister totally-not-extremely-jealous does."

Mycroft was staring intently at the letter as if he seemed to think that by staring at it he would somehow absorb its contents.

"You can calm down," she smirked, "I haven't been given a Professor's position or anything, just asked if I want extra training for Quidditch."

"Let me guess," Sam picked up the letter and read it, "yup, courtesy of my brother."

A round of knowing smiles and looks met this, Christine rolled her eyes.

"Would someone take the unspoken communication going on here and, well, make it spoken communication?"

"Oh, by all means, learn as much as you can about _Quidditch,_ " Mycroft sniffed in such an imperial manner that the painting she had awoken an hour or so ago came to mind, "and neglect your studies, chasing a ball is _so_ much more important."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"You should do it," he told her, ignoring Mycroft's comments, "but beware, Dean's a bit of a flirt."

"I think I can handle myself," she laughed, "it's not like being flirted with would impede my ability to learn a sport. How hard can it be?"


	7. Recreational Finger Painting

Chapter Seven: Recreational Finger Painting

As it turned out, Quidditch could be very, _very,_ _ **very**_ hard.

"Ugh," Christine toppled off her broomstick and lay on the grass, staring at the gray and cloudy evening sky, "I'm hopeless."

"Yeah," Dean's face appeared above her, blocking the misty view, "but you're never going to get anywhere if you keep on complaining."

He extended his hand for her to grab, she sighed deeply and took it, pulling herself up and brushing the damp grass and dirt off her uniform. Dean smirked at her and absent-mindedly twirled a large bronze ball on the tip of his finger.

"Why don't we take a break?" Dean raised his eyebrows at how sweaty and out of breath Christine had become. He tossed the ball into a container to his left and ripped off his gloves.

"Quidditch is _hard,_ " she pointedly exclaimed, once more collapsing to the ground. Christine hadn't done many sports in school and she _definitely_ wasn't used to how hard it was to manage a broomstick. Her water bottle lay on its side next to the rest of the Quidditch equipment, she scooped it up and gulped it down at a slightly alarming speed, afterward falling backward and staring at the evening sky.

"Yeah," Dean laughed at her lifeless form, "it's no wimp's game."

He leaned against the side of the arena and shoved his hands in his pockets, humming a rock song to himself.

"So," Christine sat up, looking at him, "you and Sam, are your parents magic?"

"That's a long story…" Dean snorted.

"Well, I've got time."

Dean looked down and kicked at the muddy field, shoving his hands even deeper into his pockets.

"Pure-bloods," he began, looking away from Christine and staring off towards a large forest behind the arena, "Sammy and I are pure-bloods."

"So, you knew all about this world all your life?" She sighed, "Sounds great, just wish she could have had that."

"Nope," Dean pulled one hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair, "Dad didn't tell us. Dad cut us off from the magical world."

"Why?" Christine sat up abruptly – who would purposely remove themselves from such a wonderful world?

"Mom died when Sammy and I were just kids, in a magical duel. Dad was so scarred that he vowed never to let any magic under his roof. It was not until the Hogwarts letters were sent to us that he had to explain it all. Our Uncle Bobby convinced him to let us go to Hogwarts, so here we are now."

"Wow…" She rested her head on her hands, looking up at Dean, who was avoiding eye contact.

"Yup." He pursed his lips and smiled sourly, "anyhow, let's get back to Quidditch."

* * *

Covered in mud, sweat, and grass, Christine trudged through the hallways, desperately hoping she remembered the way to the Ravenclaw common room. She was hardly paying attention when she rounded a corner at full speed, running head-on into someone.

"Oh dear!"

Christine glanced up from the floor to see a boy with glasses looking concernedly at her. The books he had been holding were now on the floor.

"How unfortunate," he looked half-amused and half-worried. She realized how ridiculous she must have looked; dripping with mud and sweat, laying sprawled out on the floor.

Without a word, the boy extended his hand. Christine took it and hoisted herself up.

"I'm so sorry," she hastily apologized, leaning down to help him pick up his books.

"It's fine, I get run into on a daily basis," he joked, "it's becoming a habit really."

"You should really find better habits," she laughed, handing him the last of his books, "getting run into isn't exactly very good for your books. Have you ever considered recreational finger painting?"

The boy raised his eyebrows and chuckled softly.

"I'm afraid I will have to give it up, my schoolbooks are suffering too much," he replied, glancing at the previously mentioned articles.

"Wise decision," Christine nodded approvingly, then glancing about she continued, "Um, by chance do you know the way to the Ravenclaw common room? I'm new here and sorta lost…"

"Ah, yes. You're Miss Rivera."

"Ah, yeah," she felt her face going red, "call me Christine, Miss Rivera's my father."

The boy smirked and adjusted his glasses.

"My name is James Moriarty, and no, I do not go by Jim or Jimmy."

"Nice to meet you," Christine smiled, "what house are you in?"

"Slytherin," he replied, "so I suppose that means I'll be seeing you around. Anyhow, you say you need to find Ravenclaw commons, they're just around that corner." He gestured to a hallway lined with suits of armor.

"Oh, well that was easy. Thanks…" She felt a little embarrassed.

As she turned the corner Christine glanced behind at James, but he had disappeared. She shrugged her shoulders and ran up to the Ravenclaw door.

"What two coins when added together equal 15 cents? One of them is not a nickel." The locker proposed this question to her in its beautiful voice.

Christine sighed and leaned against the wall, thinking over the riddle.

"I give up!" She exclaimed after a few minutes, "There isn't an answer! Ugh."

"Wrong." The overly cheery voice of the eagle chimed in.

"Oh shut up," she slid onto the ground, "I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm tired, and I just want to take a shower, not solve a bloody riddle."

"What two coins when added together equal 15 cents? One of them is not a nickel." The eagle repeated.

"One of them is not a nickel," she repeated, playing with a strand of grass that had fallen from her dirty clothes, "one of them is not… Oh! Duh! Play on words, the _other_ one is a nickel. A dime and a nickel!"

"Correct!" The eagle informed her, then the oak door swung open and she gratefully entered.

"Hey," Sam nodded to her from the couch as she entered, "how was practice?"

"Grueling, horrible, and I never want to do it again."

Christine collapsed onto the couch next to him; he wrinkled up his nose at the smell of mud and sweat.

"You should probably take a shower," he grabbed his books and disappeared up the stairwell to the boy's dorm. She stared into fading fire, thinking about what Dean had told her.

He and Sam were purebloods? Their father didn't want them to know about it? Wow, they must have been infuriated when they found out what he had been keeping from them all those years.

"Can you move?"

A harsh voice awoke Christine from her reverie; she looked up to see Mycroft glaring at her.

"You're getting mud all over the couch," he sniffed, holding the books in his arms as if they were a baby.

"Yeah sure," she sighed, heaving herself up, "sorry."


	8. The First Day

Chapter Eight: The First Day

The sun peeked through the curtains, welcoming the groggy students to their first day of classes. Fog rose over the lake as the castle slowly awoke, tired purebloods yawned their way through breakfast and excited muggle-borns could hardly eat a thing. Christine was among these excited muggle-borns, but through the encouragement of Martha, she managed to choke down some scrambled eggs.

"So, you nervous?" Sam asked, loading his plate with fried eggs and bacon.

"That's one word for it," Christine gripped her coffee mug, trying to find some comfort in its warmth, "I'm going to look so stupid to everyone."

"No…" Mycroft didn't look up from his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ to make his comment, "you're not just going to _look_ stupid, you're just going to _be_ stupid."

Martha aimed a sharp kick at him, he howled in pain and this time did, in fact, look up from his paper.

"Don't worry about it," Martha assured me, "the first class is history, and Professor Bins doesn't ask a lot of questions."

Christine faked a smile and returned to her now cold eggs. She poked at the mushy yellow mess with her fork. Why couldn't they have just sent her the letter on time?

After an unappetizing and unhelpful breakfast, Christine followed Martha's lead through the rest of the day. Although she wasn't abysmal in the classes, she made enough simple errors to embarrass herself throughout the day.

"You going to the Slytherin commons tonight?" Martha asked as she browsed the bookshelves. This question was directed at Christine, who was a lifeless lump in one of the library armchairs.

"Can I just disappear into the abyss and not have to face anyone?" Her stifled voice came from under a pillow.

"Come on, it wasn't that bad."

She peered out from under the pillow and glared at her.

"I gave a goblet little legs in transfiguration and they had to call in Filch to catch it."

Martha shrugged.

"In my first year, I accidentally brewed a love potion instead of a sleeping potion and made a mouse fall in love with me."

Christine sat up, frowning.

"Yeah, but that was your first year," sighing, she hugged the pillow, "I'm a fourth-year student, people expect better out of me."

"You just need a tutor," Martha pulled some large volumes off the shelves, "we can check out some basic books and help you catch up by studying after curfew."

"I spent the whole summer doing that," Christine sighed.

"So? You can always learn more," Martha slammed the books down on the table.

As she was speaking, a familiar face peered around the corner.

"Oh, I doubt you'll be able to help with that," the voice drawled, Martha's face soured.

"I don't think anyone cares about your opinion, you bloody psychopath."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he simpered, examining his nails carelessly.

Christine sat confused; the person in front of them was James, the boy she had run into in the hall who had been so nice.

"Um," she grunted awkwardly, "James?"

"Christine," James nodded politely, Martha stared at me in horror.

"You know him?" She incredulously shouted.

"Shush now," James raised his eyebrows, "you're in a library, remember?"

"Yeah, we met in the hall, I knocked some books out of his hands," she muttered, looking down and avoiding Martha's gaze.

"Well I'm surprised he didn't murder you," Martha placed her hands on her hips.

"I was very cordial, Mrs. Jones," James crossed his arms in response, "you see, when people aren't hostile and rude, I treat them with respect."

"Oh, what the hell do you know about respect?" Martha huffed, "we all know how much of –"

"Now, now, not in front of the children," James tutted, then turning to Christine, "I expect I'll be seeing you around the Commons tonight."

"What the hell was that?" Martha hissed at her after James had rounded the corner and disappeared.

"I don't know!" Christine defended herself, "he was very nice when I first met him!"

"He's the actual definition of a psychopath," Martha placed her hands on her hips, "I'm warning you to stay away from him."

"I've been hearing that a lot lately," she muttered.

"Mmm?"

"Nothing…" Christine sighed, "Why do you hate him so much anyway?"

Martha shuffled her feet and looked around her.

"It's a long story; I'll tell you tonight when we get back to the commons."

"Oh," she turned red, "I was going to spend the night in the Slytherin commons. I'm rotating, remember?"

"Ah," Martha pursed her lips, "well, I guess I'll tell you tomorrow night."

Christine stood up, discarding the pillow she had been hugging.

"I'd better get going, it's almost curfew," she grabbed her school bag and straightened out her robe, Martha nodded in a manner which struck her as very cold, she frowned and nodded back.

"Hey, Christine," she said, as she was walking away.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

Once again, she frowned.

"Sure thing, Martha."


	9. Leather Jackets and Black Overcoats

Chapter Nine: Leather Jackets and Black Overcoats

After she had left Martha in the library, Christine found herself absentmindedly wandering through the hallways searching for the Slytherin commons. Ever since she had arrived at this strange school, she had felt heavily the hatred against Slytherins, but in all that she had seen, there was nothing they had done wrong. Sure, being sly and ambitious could sometimes be a bad thing, but it didn't mean everyone who came out of Slytherin was horrible. Nevertheless, everyone seemed to hate them.

"Toadstool," she sighed to the large ornate door, it slid open and to reveal three people who looked like they were just about to exit.

One was rather short with thin brown hair messily tousled on his head. He was wearing a large black overcoat that seemed to envelop him.

Another was nearly tall enough to hit the doorframe, his dirty blonde hair was carefully styled in a way so that it would look carelessly styled, which was a bit of an oxymoron. He too wasn't wearing robes, but instead, a worn out leather jacket and jeans.

The last one was someone she recognized: Gabriel.

The second one rolled his eyes.

"Move kiddo," he pushed Christine aside and exited the commons, the other two following him.

"It's nearly curfew," she said without thinking. The group stopped, turning back around to stare her down.

"Listen, Chrissy," Gabriel sighed, "I'd love to stop and flirt, but we've got somewhere to be. Why don't you run along now and go get all your homework wrong or something."

She crossed her arms, getting angrier by the second.

"It's Christine," she defiantly stated. She didn't know what she was doing, usually, she just ignored people who were rude, but the frustration of that day had gotten to her and she just wanted to fight someone.

The tallest one raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"You're that two-house chick, aren't you?"

"I'm Christine Rivera, if that's what you mean."

"Lucifer Grigori, at your service," he bowed mockingly.

That name seemed to ring a bell.

"This is Gabriel, and that's Crowley," he gestured to the two behind him, "they're kinda like my henchmen," he fake whispered the last comment. Crowley tried to talk but Lucifer shushed him.

"I've met Gabriel," Christine spat, "regrettably. And I've heard about you guys. Do rules mean nothing to you?"

"So," Lucifer took a step forward, "you think that just cuz you're the most interesting new thing around town, you can tell me what to do?"

"I wasn't telling you what to do," she muttered, "I was reminding you of the curfew."

"Okay, missy, next time remind yourself how to..." he drawled off, "...something offensive. Now skedaddle kiddo!"

Christine rolled her eyes as the motley crew disappeared around the corner.

"You should follow them."

She started and turned around; Sherlock was leaning on the now-closed Slytherin doorway.

"Why?"

"Because they annoy me and I want to know what they're up to," Sherlock shrugged.

"Oh, a perfectly selfless request then," she nodded her head understandingly.

"If it helps I'll go with."

"Oh, I didn't think you were one for breaking the rules," grinning sarcastically at Sherlock's annoyed face Christine felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought of an adventure.

"Fine," she groaned, "I'll do it."

Sherlock's eyes glinted with excitement, his usually distracted, careless air became focused and intense; he rushed past her and rounded the corner the small group had just disappeared behind.

"Hey! Wait up!" Christine took one final look at the door, sighed deeply, and then turned the corner herself.


	10. A Job For A Gryffindor

Chapter Ten: A Job For A Gryffindor

"Shhh!"

Christine stopped abruptly, having finally caught up with Sherlock. He was leaning around the stairwell; the giant castle door was looming ominously in front of them. The three people who they were stalking like cats were chatting amongst themselves in low tones; Christine caught a fragment of their conversation.

"You can't seriously believe him!" The short one named Crowley was saying.

"Hey, he _is_ a parselmouth thingy," Lucifer shrugged, "that's gotta account for something, right?"

"He did –"

"Shhh!" Lucifer hushed Gabriel, "not here!"

After a few glances around them, one by one they slipped out the door, Sherlock moved forward to follow them.

"Wait..." Christine grabbed his arm, "I don't think we should do this."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows.

"Like, what if we get caught?" She said in an exasperated tone, "I just started here and –"

"Are you scared?" Sherlock said these words as if they tasted sour in his mouth.

"No," she huffed, "I just don't feel like we should –"

"There's no _we_ ," Sherlock loosened her grip on him, "there's just me, you're only here if you want to be."

She looked around, considering her options, she knew Sherlock was frustrated by the time she was wasting. Every second was time in which the group could get away, should she risk being expelled from the most wonderful place she had ever been to follow these people?

Sherlock sighed and began walking away, opening the door and slipping out. With one last glance around, Christine resigned herself to fate and followed him.

The sun had set over the edge of the forbidden forest, in the dusk, the shadowy figures disappearing into the trees were hardly visible but where her weak eyes couldn't see, Sherlock was able to point them out.

"There," he squinted, "we're going into the forest."

"At this point, I can't even protest."

Her hands were shaking and her heart rate was far above normal, at this point a Gryffindor would be charging in regardless of danger, but she was a Ravenclaw-Slytherin hybrid, and either way, courage wasn't in the package. If Sherlock was afraid he certainly didn't show it, instead he seemed calm and collected, but with a certain kind of manic energy about him. She followed his quick pace into the terrifyingly tall and black trees; soon the light from the castle was swallowed by the leafy nightmares – although the thought of the phrase "leafy nightmares" was a comforting hilarity.

After a few minutes of blindly following Sherlock, who obviously was using some super smart way of tracking the other students, they stopped right before a clearing. Christine peered around a particularly large oak tree to see four dark silhouettes standing in the middle. Their conspicuously loud voices drifted through the night, thinking they were completely alone.

"… place to meet," the tallest one was saying, she recognized Lucifer's voice, "I really love the interior decorating."

"Thanks," the fourth member of the group drawled, her heart jumped up her throat at the familiarity of the second voice.

"James."

"Moriarty."

Sherlock and Christine whispered this in different tones at the same time, hers in disbelief, his in conviction.

"So, reiterate here will ya?" Lucifer continued, "Because I don't retain information I don't really care about."

Although she couldn't see James' face, she was sure that Lucifer's words caused an unpleasant smirk. His response was laced with a kind of cyanide, killing his interlocutor's ego instantly.

"Don't forget what kind of privilege I'm giving you, with the power I have, killing you and your friends would be like squashing flies to me. Your obvious lack of moral compass made me think that you were a perfect candidate for _partnership_ ," he accented the word partnership in an acidic manner, "but… if that's not the case, I'll continue on her own."

"Jeez no nee –"

Gabriel, whose frustration was marked in his quickened speech, cut off Lucifer.

"He gets off on his own ego, just restate the terms of your agreement."

James sighed deeply before replying.

"I'll deliver names, you get them where I want them when I want them, and in return, you are granted immunity, along with any friends you wish."

"That's risking a lot, what if we get the blame?"

"That's kind of the point, if you get caught I can continue my work unabated, once I kill again they'll realize you are innocent and no harm no foul."

"Fine," Lucifer sighed, "Whaddya say, short-stack?"

The shortest one, Crowley, who until that moment had remained silent, now spoke.

"Sounds fine to me."

"Opinions, thoughts, concerns? Speak now Gabbie or forever hold your peace."

Gabriel shrugged.

"Sure."

"Glad we're settled, I'll give you a name soon."

With this final statement, James sauntered off into the woods. Christine's eyes followed him as he retreated into the ominous darkness. What did he mean, "Kill again"? James was going to kill people? She hardly had time to question this before Sherlock grabbed her hand.

The group had left the middle of the clearing and were now heading straight towards them. Sherlock pushed her behind the tree so that they were invisible to the three students, merely seconds before they entered the thicket.

"Never took him as the murdering type," Crowley commented, "maybe stealing or conning, but killing? Personally, I don't trust him."

"But you're an idiot," Lucifer pointed out, "I think we've got ourselves a sweet –"

A loud crack notified Christine that the branch she was leaning on had snapped, and it notified the three young men that they were being spied on.

"Run," Sherlock whispered, the adrenaline in her system gave her the ability to sprint alongside Sherlock through the woods, the sound of Lucifer, Crowley, and Gabriel pursuing them spurred her on. However, as if she was in some cheesy horror movie, her foot was caught in a tree root, and Christine gracefully sprawled onto the ground. Sherlock kept running.

"Hey!" She screeched in desperation at his retreating figure, "asshole!"


	11. Definitely a Job for a Gryffindor

Chapter Eleven: Yup, Definitely a Job for a Gryffindor

"Well, well, well."

Christine's stomach churned as she scrambled to get up and away from the three students. Despite her best efforts, a hand grabbed her shirt collar and forced her against a nearby tree.

"What do we have here?"

Lucifer moved his grasp to her throat, examining her face with wicked delight.

"Wow, what's this? The second time you've been an annoyance to me? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kill you now."

His grip tightened, Christine's hands were desperately clawing at his iron fist, trying to give herself some room to breathe.

"Lucifer..." Gabriel warned him, "Think a little."

"Think what, goody-two-shoes?" Lucifer maintained eye contact with her, seeming to take a terrifying joy in her suffering.

"We can't kill her, someone else was with her and they'll be able to pin the blame on us. Even if she heard it all, she's got no proof."

Lucifer held his grasp, obviously mulling over Gabriel's suggestion in his mind. Finally, he shrugged and loosened his death grip. Christine bent over gasping and wheezing, trying to fill her lungs back up. The harsh night air was less than comforting as she forced it down her throat; it felt as if her beating heart was in the way, not allowing any oxygen to come to her rescue. It was horrifyingly similar to drowning. She could feel her heart rate running faster than an Olympic sprinter – as if any minute now it would burst out of her chest. Hot tears were forming in the corners of her bleary eyes but what little pride she had left gave her the strength to hold them there. Gabriel placed his hand on Lucifer's shoulder, giving a sign to back off. This time the threatening face in front of her was Gabriel's, but there was no sickening joy in his eyes, in fact, he looked rather tired of the whole affair.

"So, you're going to tell me who was with you," he began, "or I'll punch you, deal?"

Christine couldn't formulate any coherent words, only a nearly inaudible squeak.

"Y'know, I really don't like hitting girls."

She could see in his eyes that he was pleading with her – he didn't want to hurt her. She knew that if it was up to him she would be walking free, but Lucifer wasn't going to have that. Better Gabriel doing the damage than someone who really wanted to hurt her.

"I prefer hitting _on_ girls, completely different," he continued, still pleading with his eyes, "whoever it is certainly isn't worth protecting, they left you alone with three guys who were just casually discussing murder."

People say there are two reactions to dangerous circumstances, fight or flight. Christine disagreed because her reaction was to freeze, so she remained frozen, and subsequently silent. She agreed with Gabriel, at that moment she hated Sherlock with a burning passion, how could he leave her? If she could have, Christine would have told them the name at once. Lucifer was fidgeting impatiently behind Gabriel.

"You're too soft," Lucifer shoved Gabriel to the side, "she's not going to talk without a little help."

He grabbed Christine by the neck, hoisted her up, and landed a punch right on her nose.

Her ears began ringing, at first she was dazed, so the pain wasn't as bad, but as she slowly began to refocus she could feel the sickening sensation of the blunt force. Blood trickled slowly from her nose and mouth, mixing with the tears that were now falling down her cheeks. A second punch, harder than the first, made the world go fuzzy. She felt an uncontrollable urge to vomit; it was as if her brain was being squashed inside her head.

"Lucifer..."

Christine glanced over at Gabriel, who was standing hopelessly. She supposed he had the whole "freeze in the face of danger" thing also. Lucifer ignored his comment, continuing to hit her.

"WHO WAS IT?" Lucifer shouted, shaking her violently.

Christine couldn't speak; she was so numb that she couldn't even recognize the question he had asked. A few more harsh blows to the face and a few more to the ribs left her so bloodied and confused that she couldn't even hear what the muffled voices around me were saying. The only thing she could manage to do was whimper a desperate _"please."_

Suddenly the punches stopped, but her eyes were so swollen that Christine couldn't see why. The hold on her neck was released and she collapsed on the ground, the now sideways world going black.

* * *

 _"Hey."_

 _"Christine."_

 _"Wake up."_

Christine blinked her eyes, which hurt like all hell. Slowly the four blurry heads above came into focus. She tried to sit up, but that hurt like even more hell, making her nearly black out again.

"Whoa, slow down there," The Doctor was kneeling next to her, "you took quite a nasty beating."

Sam was standing a little while off, looking through the trees for the attackers. His brother was wadding up his jacket to make Christine a pillow. Mycroft stood above her, arms crossed.

"What happened?" She mumbled, placing a hand on her throbbing head.

"Mary sent me an owl," Mycroft knelt down on her other side, for the first time there was some genuine concern in his voice, "she said Sherlock had left the dorm and that you hadn't shown up. She also saw Lucifer leave before Sherlock, so she assumed the worst. We sent Cas and Martha to search the castle and we went out here. We followed the shouts and came upon you getting beat to a pulp, but the guys who did it ran off when we arrived. I suppose they thought we were teachers."

Christine groaned and tried to sit up again, this time much slower.

"I can carry you," Dean offered.

"No I'm fine I can stand," she protested, but when she arose she nearly blacked out again.

"Yeah, whatever you say," Dean slid one arm under her neck and the other under her knees.

"Jeez, how much do you weigh?" He groaned.

"That's offensive," she murmured, before slipping into unconsciousness once more.


	12. The Room of Requirement

Chapter Twelve: The Room of Requirement

Christine's eyelids were as heavy as lead, indistinct voices had raised her from her second coma-like sleep. When she finally gathered the strength to look around she didn't recognize the room in which she was laying.

The walls seemed to stretch out into oblivion, lined with bookcases, shelves, giant cupboards, mismatching tea sets, several billion textbooks, a tiara perched on an old bust, and many other odd sights. She was lying in a ginormous King sized four-poster bed, as ridiculous looking as the rest of the room.

"… the last person she wants to see right now, Christine doesn't need you doing your detective act trying to figure out the motive or something."

The Doctor shoved his hands into his pockets, ending his statement emphatically. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and was about to speak when he was hit in the face by a pillow, thrown by Christine.

"HE." Pillow. "DOESN'T." Pillow. "NEED." Pillow. "TO." Pillow. "FIGURE." Pillow. "OUT." Pillow. "THE." Pillow. "MOTIVE!"

Sherlock stood in shock, half at the number of pillows within Christine's reach and half at her reaction.

"HE WAS THERE, AND DECIDED TO RUN OFF RATHER THAN FACE DANGER!" Tears of frustration were welling up in her eyes, " _SURE_ , MAKE ME FEEL LIKE AN IDIOT FOR BEING AFRAID TO GO FOLLOW THEM, BUT THE MOMENT IT'S NOT SOME SILLY LITTLE GAME – THE MOMENT THAT IT'S ACTUALLY INVOLVING _REAL_ DANGER, YOU SPRINT OFF LIKE A WILD GAZELLE!"

Sherlock swallowed, avoiding eye contact with The Doctor and her.

"YOU KNOW WHY LUCIFER WAS BEATING THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME?" She continued, picking up another pillow and hurling it at his face, "BECAUSE I WASN'T GIVING THE NAME OF THE PERSON I WAS WITH. THAT WASN'T _MY_ CHOICE, OH NO, I WAS SO GODDAMN TERRIFIED THAT I COULDN'T EVEN SPEAK, SO I JUST SAT THERE AND GOT PUNCHED!"

Screaming at the top of her lungs exhausted what little strength Christine had left, causing her to fall back on the now pillow-less bed, tears falling down her cheeks.

"I –"

"No. Go away. I don't want to talk to you right now."

Sherlock walked off without another word, disappearing into the boxes and books.

The Doctor approached the side of the bed, whipping out his wand.

"So, I practiced some healing spells over the summer," he placed the wand on her swollen face, "let's hope I remember how to do this."

 _"Tergeo."_

The blood slowly cleared away.

 _"Episkey."_

The pain in her face disappeared, repairing it back to its normal self. The Doctor then repeated the spell on her ribs and soon she was able to stand again.

"So..." Christine shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to recover a normal heart rate and steady her breathing, "where are we?"

"The room of requirement," The Doctor looked about him fondly, "it's a room in the castle which appears when you need it most. Full of centuries worth of hidden material from students and teachers alike. No one can hear or find us in here."

"That's pretty cool," she peered around the long lines of bookcases.

"Yeah," The Doctor followed her glance, "so what is going on here? Why were you in the woods?"

"Ah," she sighed, "long story. Lucifer, Crowley, and Gabriel were all leaving the Slytherin commons as I was arriving, which was minutes before curfew. Sherlock convinced me to follow them with him, so we stalked them to a clearing in the woods. Then we heard them making some sort of deal with that kid James Moriarty, who was talking about killing people. He said that if Lucifer and co. would make sure he got his victims that he would "grant them immunity" or whatever. After this was over they all parted ways, but she accidentally broke a branch and they found Sherlock and her behind a tree. We then sprinted off, but she tripped and that jerk didn't even bother to help me."

"James? You saw him? You have proof? If you can attest then maybe –"

"Hey, hey slow down, what're you talking about?"

"Let me show you," he dragged her to a nearby basin-like thing, placed his wand next to his temple, and slowly pulled it away, dragging out a sliver misty kind of substance. Christine watched, very confused, as he placed it in the bowl. The silvery substance began to swirl around and she felt a strange urge to bend over and look at it, the closer she looked the more she could begin to see a scene in the liquid until she plunged herself into it.

She expected water of some sort, but instead of finding her head in a basin, Christine was transported somewhere; within seconds The Doctor joined her.

"Welcome to my memories," he gestured to the scene in front of him.


	13. Pensieve

Chapter Thirteen: Pensieve

Christine had no time to ask how the hell they got where they were, for the events in front of her quickly devoured all her attention. She saw The Doctor; perhaps a few years younger than he was now, standing in the frame of a doorway, bidding a young girl goodbye. This girl was also around his age, with blonde hair and brown eyes.

"See ya later, David!" She said, smiling fondly.

"Oh come on Rose, how many times do I have to tell you to call me "The Doctor"?" He whined.

"That's never gonna catch on y'know."

"Trust me, one day it will."

"Whatever you say," Rose rolled her eyes and closed the door.

The Doctor sighed and trudged off down the road. Little houses were spotted here and there, they were all extremely odd looking works of architecture – Christine could hardly believe some of them were standing on their own.

After some time, The Doctor stopped in front of a large house with two gargoyles perched on the roof. He chuckled to himself.

The present-day Doctor, who was standing by Christine's side, now spoke.

"This is Sherlock's house. After his family found out they were magical they moved to a magical neighborhood. A rare family, the Holmes's – every child was magical, but the parents weren't."

Christine raised her eyebrows and continued to watch the scene unfold.

The Doctor knocked on the door but found no response. He waited a few seconds before he heard a scream from the backyard.

"JAMES N –"

In a panic, he rushed around the house and leaped over the fence.

The bright green grass and the beautiful flowers seemed an awful juxtaposition to what was lying amongst them. The body of a young girl lay lifeless in the middle of the yard. She had long black hair and skin so pale it was practically translucent. Her arms were sprawled out on the grass and her mouth was agape. The Doctor's face drained of all color as he approached her, kneeling down next to her immobile body.

"Eurus?" He whispered, not daring to touch her.

"What's going on? I heard someone –"

The sound of Mycroft's voice came from the now open gate. His eyes went from the lifeless body to the person kneeling next to her.

"David?" His voice cracked as he forced out these words.

"I didn't do anything," he backed away, "I found her like this."

As he did this, another face peered around the corner – a young boy with curly black hair. He bobbed his head excitedly and smiled broadly at his brother.

"Sherlock, don't look," Mycroft grabbed him and covered his eyes, but Sherlock squirmed lose from his brother's grasp.

"I wanna see!" He complained and turned around to see the body on the floor. His faced changed immediately, from a childish joy to a disbelieving shock.

"Eurus?" He whispered, stretching out his arm, not comprehending what was going on, "EURUS!?"

He rushed forward but Mycroft grabbed his arms and restrained him, he screamed and kicked, crying out the girl's name. The Doctor stood in shock between the body and the gate.

The picture in front of Christine's eyes faded away into silver and she felt a hand pulling her head out of the basin. She plunged back into reality and was once again in the room of requirement, she wasn't even sure if she'd ever left it. The Doctor looked at her, letting her take in all that she had just seen.

"So…" Christine began, "Sherlock thinks you did it?"

"Yeah," The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck, "Eurus was Sherlock's older sister. I met the family when they moved into my neighborhood. We became friends even before Sherlock and I started going to school. The thing is, I know who really killed her – James Moriarty. I mean she even called out his name beforehand. Those two were the closest of friends, up until a few days before that happened. I had heard from Sherlock that she was beginning to worry for his sanity."

"Why didn't he believe you?"

"James had an alibi," The Doctor gritted his teeth; "Lucifer and Crowley attest that he was playing a card game with them at the time of the murder. So the killer was never found."

"Wow," Christine slowly sat down on a nearby disheveled couch, "I can't believe it."

"Yup," The Doctor joined her on the heap of springs and cushions, "a few friends think I'm right, but there's nothing we can do. We've got no motive so the authorities won't even consider it, James acts like a sad puppy whenever we bring it up but I know what that bastard did."

"And now he's going to kill again."

"And we don't know who."

"Or how."

"Or when."

"Or why."


	14. Sherlock

Chapter Fourteen: Sherlock

"Where've you been?" Mary asked.

It was nearly 3 am when Christine snuck into the Slytherin commons to find Mary seated on the couch by the fire, sipping a cup of tea.

"Ask Sherlock," she muttered. Mary raised her eyebrows.

"Not like that," she corrected hastily, "listen, it's a long story and I'm really tired right now."

Mary shrugged and returned to her tea.

Christine heaved up the stairs and collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Whyyyyyyyyyyy," she groaned.

* * *

"Good morning," Sherlock tried to greet Christine when she walked down in the morning. She scowled in response and hurried out the door. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to him. In fact, her plan was to migrate to the Ravenclaw commons until affairs were solved. Literally everyone she wanted to avoid was there, it was an ideal plan.

The Doctor wanted to tell as many people as possible about his theory, but Martha and Mycroft asserted that it would only cause panic and make things too confusing. Therefore, the only other people who knew were Sam, Dean, and Cas. Dean was in favor of ambushing James and trying to beat a confession out of him, and finding Lucifer and ripping him a new one for what he did to Christine. However, most of the group were Ravenclaws, so they were more careful.

A few weeks of silence went by. Ravenclaws had double classes with the Slytherins and on occasion, Lucifer would send a wink in Christine's direction. Christine's reaction was always to flip him off, so long as no teacher was watching.

The silence was probably more unsettling than anything else. Knowing that any minute someone could die and there was nothing they could do about it was terrifying. The Doctor and Sam were often missing from the commons because their other halves were in different houses. This left Mycroft, Christine, and Martha alone to have all night sessions trying to figure out what their next move should be.

"We should go to Dumbledore," Christine exasperatedly threw her homework down on the table, "there's nothing we can do."

"And tell him what?" Mycroft sighed, sketching his astrology charts carefully, "You're going to have to preface your story with the fact that you were breaking two different rules at once."

"He's right you know," Martha sighed, looking at the clock, "staying up all night never does the brain much good. I'm gonna turn in for the night. Don't stay up too late."

"Goodnight," Mycroft muttered, scrunching up his face and turning his chart upside down.

Christine peered over at it.

"Mercury," she answered his unspoken question, "it's in the wrong place."

"I knew that…" he hastily corrected his mistake.

As they were finishing their homework in silence, an owl flew to the window, a letter in his mouth. Mycroft looked up and let out an annoyed sigh.

"Sherlock keeps sending my owls back unread," he placed his chart on the table and let the bird in, "he just walks away when I try to talk to him."

"He's convinced himself of a narrative and he doesn't want to admit he's wrong," Christine leaned back, "besides that, he's probably extremely ashamed of running away."

"That sounds like him," Mycroft threw his letter into the fire.

"Should I try to talk to him?"

"Well," Mycroft shrugged, "I don't know if you'll be able to get him to listen."

"Worth a try isn't it?"

"I guess you're right," he replied, then at Christine's smug grin he went on, "don't let that go to your head, you've been wrong about plenty other things."

"Well, I'd better get going then," she pulled herself off the couch.

"It's a quarter to midnight!" Mycroft checked his watch.

"This is Sherlock we're talking about; he's probably up practicing his violin."

"Does the concept of curfew mean nothing to you?"

"At this point, I forget it even exists," Christine shrugged.

With that, she heaved open the door and left Mycroft to his book.

Despite lacking any sense of direction, Christine had finally learned how to find the common rooms without any help. After nearly having a run-in with Filch's cat, almost getting into a fight with a painting, and negotiating for nearly ten minutes with Peeves about him going to get Filch, she arrived at the Slytherin common room.

"Toadstool," she whispered, the door swung open.

As she expected, no one was in the room except Sherlock, who was playing his violin inside his little bubble. He didn't look up upon her entrance, so she quietly took a seat next to him inside of it, listening to the song.

"I don't blame you, y'know. I was scared too; I'd probably have done the same thing."

Sherlock stopped playing.

"I wasn't scared."

Christine glanced over at him, trying not to get frustrated.

"Why'd you leave me then?"

He was silent.

"It's okay to admit weakness," she continued, "you're human, you make mistakes. Sure, I'm still pretty mad that you left me to be beaten up, but right now isn't a time for us to be fighting. James is going to hurt people, and we need you."

Sherlock placed his violin on the table, still not looking at her.

"There you go with the "we" again."

"You're brother needs you."

"Oh sure," he snapped, "Because he cares so much about his family."

She bit her lip.

"Listen… I know what happened, and I know –"

"You don't know _anything_ ," Sherlock hissed, "I'm sure you've heard _his_ side of the story, right? Don't believe him. He killed my sister."

Christine sighed.

"Sherlock, why would he do that? I know that it was a traumatic event and you rationalized it in whatever way you could, but you can't blame an innocent person just to make yourself feel better."

"But James had no reason either. The two were practically married – not to mention he didn't have the ability. It was an unforgivable curse – James hadn't reached that level yet, but I know for a fact that David's _extracurricular activities_ included that."

"What?"

"You really know nothing about him, do you?" Sherlock laughed sardonically, "Dark arts his a hobby of his. Ever since I've known him he's been dabbling in forbidden magic. He called it "academic research", but I knew he had to be using it for something."

"Sherlock," she sighed, "just because The Doctor is interested in dark magic doesn't mean he would ever use it. James, on the other hand, was just talking about killing people. The Doctor would never hurt a fly, how can you not see the connection? You're supposed to be the smart one."

"I saw him," he desperately protested.

"No. You didn't. Did you see his wand out? Did he look like a killer? Why wouldn't he have left immediately?"

Sherlock bit his lip.

"But –"

"No. Sherlock. No. It was traumatic, and I can't even imagine what you felt like, but you were young and protecting yourself, you blamed the nearest person."

Sherlock bit his lip.

"I have to go to bed," he muttered, grabbing his violin and disappearing up the stairs.

Christine groaned and leaned her head back against the coach.

"That's an interesting story you have there," a voice came from behind her.


	15. Binary

Chapter Fifteen: Binary

"How long have you been standing there?" Christine hastily grabbed a book and held it up as if it were a weapon, Gabriel raised his hands.

"Hey, slow down there, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Oh sure, given your past behavior I'll take your word."

Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"Okay, fair point. I've been standing here the whole time, I have an invisibility cloak."

"A what?"

"A cloak that makes you invisible, it's kinda in the name. It's pretty damn useful, I stole it from some witch in Africa; don't ask what I was doing there."

Christine raised the book threateningly.

"Okay, okay! The point is, I don't want to be a part of this."

"A part of what?"

"James' plan," he sighed, "I may be a chronic trouble maker, but I'm not really a killer. Honestly, the only reason I was involved at all was because Lucifer and Crowley were. I've taken a liking to you so even though I'm not that big a fan of some of your friends, I'm willing to help you out."

She raised her eyebrows.

"What do you have to gain out of this?"

"As I said, I like you. I'm sick of being shunned and I really owe you after the whole Lucifer thing. I never wanted that to happen but I couldn't stop it without putting myself in danger."

"Yeah, apology not accepted, but it's the thought that counts," Christine placed the book down cautiously, "do you have anything _useful_ to tell me?"

"Ah, yes, actually I do!" He pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. She glanced over it to see a bunch of ones and zeros, arranged in this way.

01010010 01101111 01110011 01100101 00100000 01010100 01111001 01101100 01100101 01110010 00101100 00100000 01010000 01101111 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01110011 00100000 01000011 01101100 01100001 01110011 01110011 01110010 01101111 01101111 01101101 00101100 00100000 00110010 01100001 01101101

"What this hell is this?" She stared at the numbers, "binary?"

"That's what it looks like," he shrugged, "James gave it Lucifer. It's the first name. I suppose you and the Ravenclaws can make something of it."

"I don't know binary," she muttered, "but I know someone who might."

Gabriel nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I hope you find them."

"Thanks," Christine said, feeling a little sorry for the guy in front of her, "I realize what you're risking by doing this."

"Don't let me down then," he chuckled.

Christine slipped out the door, hurrying through the castle, not caring about the noise she was making. She was so distracted by the paper that she failed to see Mrs. Norris hiss at her from behind a suit of armor. She pummeled down the staircases, trying to reach the Ravenclaw common room.

 _I hope to God that Mycroft knows binary._

"Hey!"

Suddenly an arm on her shoulder caused her to stop. Turning around she found herself face-to-face with Filch.

"Do you have any idea what time it is, girl?"

"No," she answered truthfully.

"It's 2 am! What are you doing out of bed at 2 am?! I'll get ya expelled for this!"

She swallowed; trying to find a way out of this, all she could think of was the paper she held crumpled in her hands.

"Didn't she tell you?"

"Didn't who tell me what?"

Her mind raced.

"Professor McGonagall! She gave me permission to be up past curfew to study in the library so I can keep up with my classes."

"Likely story," he growled, "you got a note from her?"

"Yes, I do," she waved the crumpled paper at him. He snatched it out of her hand and looked it over.

"This is just a bunch of numbers!"

"You can't read wizard script…?!" Christine cried incredulously.

Filch looked at her, then at the paper, turned it upside down a few times, then looked at me again.

"Of course she can read wizard script," he mumbled, still trying to comprehend the numbers, "what do you take me for? A bloody moron?"

"No, no, it just seemed like you couldn't read it, that's all," she shrugged.

Filch stared in frustration at the paper.

"Looks like you've got permission," he grumbled, "carry on."

"Thank you, sir," she grabbed the paper and scrambled off.


	16. Rose Tyler

Chapter Sixteen: Rose Tyler

Leaving a baffled Filch in the distance, Christine barreled down the hallway. After several twists and turns, a few almost fatal falls, and being chased by Peeves for a few minutes before he gave up, she arrived at the Ravenclaw common room. The eagle peered at her before opening its mouth and speaking in silvery tones.

"Can you name three consecutive days without using the words "Wednesday," "Friday," or "Sunday"?"

She groaned.

"Oh come on! Someone's going to die if I don't get inside!"

"Can you name three consecutive days without using the words "Wednesday," "Friday," or "Sunday"?"

"Oh my God."

Christine plopped down on the ground and buried her head in her hands – her mind was buzzing with excitement and fear, she couldn't think.

"I don't know," she threw her hands up in despair, "why the hell do you have to ask riddles? Why isn't it just a password? This is all so _stupid._ "

The eagle condescendingly repeated its query, causing her to throw a punch at the ornate door, which only resulted in a hurt hand.

"Think about it, name three consecutive days without using the words "Wednesday," "Friday," or "Sunday"?"

Christine racked her brain, trying to find some answer that made sense.

 _What are other words for the days of the week? Tomorrow? Yester…?_

"Ah! Yesterday, today, tomorrow!"

"Correct!" The voice chimed cheerily as the door swung open with a groan.

"Mycroft!" She screeched, running up the boys' dormitory stairs, "Mycroft wake up!"

She violently shook him, causing him to spring up with a surprising amount of force, a floral night mask on his face.

"What – wh – I…?"

"Can you read binary?"

Mycroft rubbed his eyes, a few other people groaned from their beds and told her to be quiet but she ignored them.

"Um, yes."

"Good, come with me."

She grabbed his hand and dragged him down into the common room, shoving a pencil, paper, and the note into his lap.

"Gabriel gave this to me," Christine could hardly catch her breath, "it's the first name James gave Lucifer."

Mycroft stared at the note for a moment before grabbing a nearby book titled _Languages and Codes for the Modern Man._ Christine leaned back in her armchair and tried to steady her heart rate. She watched as he flipped through the volume, muttering to himself before settling on a page full of numbers. Several minutes passed before he managed to translate the string into a coherent sentence. After he had finished, he stared at the words in front of him, the color draining from his tired face.

Without a word, he handed the scrap of paper to the exhausted looking girl sitting across from him.

 _Rose Tyler, Potions classroom, 2 am_

* * *

Christine sprinted down the hall, following the yells from Filch. The whole castle was ignoring curfew as students leaked out of their dorms and into the dungeon. Professor Dumbledore and other teachers were trying to prevent the crowd from seeing. Christine scanned the crowd for The Doctor, knowing that she had to stop him from looking in.

"Christine," Mycroft nudged her and pointed the half-open door.

Christine looked in and saw bloody words had been formed on the wall of the classroom.

 _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware._

Beneath the words hung the body of Rose Tyler, her blonde hair stained with red.

"What's going on?" The Doctor appeared next to the two of them.

"David, let's take a walk," Mycroft put an arm around his shoulder, guiding him away from the room, "I don't know how to tell you this…"

Christine watched the two of them disappear behind the corner. She had no idea how Mycroft was going to tell him this. Christine had hardly talked to Rose, but he knew that The Doctor and she were more than just friends.

Students were instructed to return to their dormitories. Most didn't know what had been in the room, and those who did were not keen to share.

"I heard about – I'm so sorry. I just don't know what to say."

Sam offered his apologies. The Doctor didn't reply. He looked shell-shocked.

Now that she had had time to process the situation, Christine was fuming.

"I'll be back," she hissed, storming out the dormitory and slipping through the dark hallways. How many times in one night would she switch between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw dorm rooms?

When she opened the door she found the Slytherin commons was almost empty. People must have brushed it off as some overreaction on Filch's part and gone to bed. Sherlock sat flipping through a book on the couch. Upon her entrance, he looked up sharply.

"I'm sorry about your friend," he commented.

"She wasn't really my friend, she was The Doctors," Christine collapsed next to him, "I'm freaking exhausted. I've been running around all night trying to stop this from happening but it happened anyway. Do you know where James is?"

"No…" Sherlock pulled out some folded parchment, "but this handy thing does."

He put the tip of his wand against the paper and whispered the words, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Christine watched as ink began to spread across it, revealing the words _The Marauders Map._

"What's that?" She asked.

"A very useful map created by a friend of my parents," Sherlock opened the pages to reveal an intricate map of the castle with little footprints all over it with names hovering above them, "he and his friends made it while they were students."

"He's not anywhere," Christine sighed.

"Then we know exactly where he is," Sherlock replied.


	17. The Next Victim

Chapter Seventeen: The Next Victim

Christine slipped through the hallways, following Sherlock. He was looking around at the walls as if searching for something. Finally, he stopped in front of a large section of clear wall. Christine looked across and saw a large tapestry of trolls dancing a ballet.

"What on earth is that…?"

"Barnabas the Barmy," Sherlock chuckled, "he tried to train trolls for the ballet. His tapestry marks where the room of requirement is."

"Why are wizards so weird?" She sighed.

Sherlock shrugged and began pacing in front of the wall. After three paces, a door appeared in the stone.

"Woah," Christine gasped, "that's awesome."

Sherlock heaved the door open and the two entered.

The impossibly large room was full of so many impossible objects that although Christine had already seen it once, it took her breath away. From across the room somewhere they heard low voices. Sherlock motioned for her to follow and the two set out to find the source of the voices. After winding through bookshelves, cauldrons, and armchairs they finally found what they were searching for.

Peering from behind a rickety old bookshelf, Christine and Sherlock saw James talking to Lucifer.

"…wise considering she's new and all," Lucifer was saying.

James simply rolled his eyes.

"If you're going to take that attitude then why do anything at all? A mudblood is a mudblood."

Lucifer shrugged.

"I guess so."

As they were talking Gabriel rounded the corner.

"I'm out," he drew a shaky breath as if he was holding back tears, "I won't snitch but I also won't do this anymore."

"Ah," James threw a weary glance at him, "that is your choice, of course, but I would be wary of becoming another unfortunate victim of the heir of Slytherin. Betrayal is, of course, one of the worst sins."

Gabriel gulped and his eyes faltered under James's penetrating gaze.

"Who's the next one?" He could barely get above a whisper.

"Christine Rivera," James smirked, "I've had the displeasure of meeting her. Nice girl, for a mudblood."

Christine could practically hear Sherlock's blood begin to boil. His eyes were focused like fire on James as if he intended to burn him with them like lasers.

Gabriel had become so pale that the color of his skin was identical to a marble bust which was on a shelf next to him, a jeweled crown on its marble head.

Christine herself was hit the most by this revelation. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her body and the back of her throat was so dry that she could hardly get air down to revive herself.

"Wh…" Gabriel cleared his throat, "when and where?"

James smiled smugly.

"We have to work quickly, I doubt they'll let this go on much longer before they shut the whole school down. Tomorrow night at 8 pm in the room of requirement."

Gabriel nodded sheepishly.

"Well, we'd better get going," Lucifer checked his watch, "if we're gone any longer we become prime murder suspects."

The three disappeared into the sea of objects and soon their voices faded completely.

Christine plopped down onto a leather armchair and let out a deep sigh. Sherlock stood in front, pacing back and forth like a madman.

"Well, that's terrifying," she finally said.

"I'm going to rip his head off," Sherlock spat.

"Violent."

"And necessary."

"It's really very simple how to avoid this," Christine leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand, "Gabriel, Lucifer, and Crowley are the tools that James uses. I just won't go anywhere with them alone."

"Ah, but you see," Sherlock bit his lip, "James is far too smart for that. He undoubtedly suspects Gabriel's betrayal, if he does not know about it entirely already. He would fabricate another device to lure you where he wanted you to be."

"Well then I won't go anywhere," she shrugged, "I'd prefer to do that anyway."

He let out a little chuckle.

"I suppose you're right. But as Lucifer said, we really need to get back to our dorm rooms."

As they snuck down the hallways Christine felt a hand on her shoulder. Spinning around with a mini yelp she saw Gabriel.

"Shhhh!" He hissed, a few paintings muttered in their sleep. Sherlock drew up next to her, staring at Gabriel suspiciously.

"Save your breath," he said, "we heard the whole conversation."

"Oh," Gabriel looked a little confused before continuing, "Well since you know Christine's the next target, you have to understand that James is going to find some very new and creative way of getting you."

"That's very comforting," Christine raised her eyebrows, "got any specific details on how he's going to do that?"

"Nope, but I got something better."


	18. Not The Usual Kind of Homework

Chapter Eighteen: Not The Usual Kind of Homework

The next day Gabriel, Sherlock, and Christine were in the library pouring over dusty old volumes.

"I swear it's in here somewhere," Gabriel insisted, rubbing his tired eyes and flipping another worn out page.

Christine sighed and journeyed further into the sea of books, away from where Sherlock and Gabriel were bickering about page numbers. Gabriel had told them last night that he had once read in a history book that there was a secret entrance to the chamber of secrets. Christine had been terrified to learn how Rose had died. Apparently, Salazar Slytherin had had a pet ginormous snake called the Basilisk that killed you by looking you in the eye. He had passed the power to control it on to the next heir of Slytherin, in this case, James.

Now they had to kill it.

Christine's finger traced the titles of the books, she was so deep into the shelves that she worried she wouldn't be able to make it out alive. As she rounded a corner she found herself face to face with The Doctor.

"Oh, hey," she drew back a step.

"Hey," he shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to smile, "what're you doing?"

"Oh, um, Gabriel, Sherlock, and I are trying to figure out how to get into the chamber of secrets."

"Why?" The Doctor's face lit up.

"Well, we overheard James talking and apparently I'm next in line."

The Doctor had a similar reaction to Sherlock upon hearing this.

"That stupid –"

"Shh, we're in a library!"

"Right sorry."

"Anyhow, yeah. Gabriel says that there's some book that tells us how to get into the chamber and after that, we just need something that can kill the Basilisk."

"Oh I know what he's talking about," The Doctor leaned over and grabbed a book from one of the shelves and read a passage aloud, "Salazar Slytherin was theorized to have a secret room in the West Tower of _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ , with a direct passage to the mythical _Chamber of Secrets._ School officials deny the existence of either room, but in recent years it has been thought that the room was, in fact, found."

"Wait, that's where that weird stairwell is in my Ravenclaw room!"

"Well then, we'd better go tell the others."

* * *

"How do we get in?"

Gabriel stared at the magically sealed stairwell.

"Well, I know how to get rid of the anti-apparition spell over the castle," The Doctor put in, "but not how to break magic barriers."

"When did you learn how to do that?" Sherlock eyed him suspiciously.

"A while ago. Anyhow, anyone got any ideas?"

Gabriel was still staring at it, he looked like he was trying very hard to remember something – either that or he was about to vomit.

"Ahh, maybe…" he raised his wand, " _contere_!"

The invisible barrier shattered like glass.

"Where on earth did you learn that?" Sherlock spluttered.

"I took Latin for a few years," Gabriel shrugged, "most spells are just commands in Latin."

Sherlock looked absolutely affronted at the concept.

"Well, we'd better get going now," The Doctor made a movement to enter the stairwell.

"Wait," Christine placed her hand on his shoulder, "we don't have anything to kill the Basilisk with. I doubt Gabriel pointing his wand at it and saying "die" in Latin will do much."

"She's right," Gabriel pointed out.

"Well, what kills it?"

"The sword of Godric Gryffindor, I'm pretty sure," Sherlock sighed, "but I have no idea how we're going to get that."

"Oh, I do!" Gabriel exclaimed, "James nicked it when he started this whole thing so that no one could get it and kill his pet. It's hidden in the room of requirement. Stay here while I get it, I'll be back in a few."

With that, he hurried off to the room of requirement.


	19. The Sword of Godric Gryffindor

Chapter Nineteen: The Sword of Godric Gryffindor

"It's been two hours," Christine sighed, "he should be back by now."

"Agreed," The Doctor rose, "we should all go look for him."

"Not _all_ of us. Someone needs to stay here to explain what happened if we don't return. Christine and I will go.

The Doctor scowled a bit at the idea of being left behind, but he saw the reason in it and plopped back down onto the chair.

After another exhausting trip through the castle, they arrived at the place where the door should be.

"Ladies first," Sherlock gestured to the giant oak entrance which had popped out of the wall.

"How polite of you," Christine simpered, pulling the door open and entering.

The moment that she entered, the door disappeared, sealing her off from Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" She screamed, pounding on the wall. She pressed her ear against it and could hear nothing.

"How nice to see you again," a familiar voice drawled behind her. Christine's stomach churned and she slowly turned to find herself face to face with James. Gabriel lay in a slump on the floor beside him.

"Is he…?"

"Dead? No, no. I can't afford to kill pure-bloods. Mudbloods, on the other hand… that's my job."

He smiled in a way which made Christine sick.

"I'm no different from you," she pleaded, "if muggle-borns weren't supposed to have magic, then why do we exist?"

"Even nature makes mistakes sometimes," he shrugged, "and it's the job of the most enlightened wizards to clean up these mistakes."

Christine drew her wand, the few spells she knew racing through her mind. She thought of what Gabriel had said. She herself had taken a year or two of Latin when a foreign language had been required in school. What was fall in Latin again?

" _Cade_!" She yelled, hoping that she had used the correct form. Although her plan had been to cause James to collapse, instead a few shelves next to him toppled over next to him, only missing because he ninja-rolled to the side just in time.

"Going off-book I see," he smirked, "maybe I underestimated your abilities. _Sectumsempra_!"

Christine felt a searing and intense pain across her torso, she looked down and saw four deep gashes. Her knees gave out and she let out a screech of pain, dropping her wand and placing her hands over the wounds in an attempt to stop the blood.

James cackled and regained his posture, standing over her.

"You know, a wound to the stomach is supposed to be the slowest and most painful way to die," he kicked her wand to the side, "can you concur with this theory?"

With an enormous amount of effort, Christine heaved herself up. She wasn't going to be killed here. Not now, and not by this asshole.

" _Ac –"_ She gasped for air, trying to remember the spell. Her wand was all the way across the room but she remembered Flitwick mentioning how the best witches and wizards could perform spells without a wand. Maybe, just maybe, in a time of need, she would be able to do this, " _Accio wand."_

James scoffed.

"You don't have a wand, you're powerless. A mudblood like you could never perform magic with a wand, I doubt you can do it adequately even with one."

His comment seemed to fuel a fire within her. She closed her eyes and raised her arm.

" _ACCIO WAND!"_ She put all of her remaining energy into the scream, her wand flew across the room and into her outstretched hand. James's eyes widened.

 _"Vulnera Sanentur,"_ she muttered, pointing her wand at herself. She had learned that spell only last week in Defense Against the Dark Arts. For healing wounds. Thank God she had paid attention.

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_ James shouted, fuming at her recovery. Christine rolled behind a giant statue just in time. She pointed her wand at the slumped-over body of Gabriel. _"Rennervate!"_

It was at times like these that Christine was acutely thankful she was a decent student. Her free time during the summer on campus had been spent reading through the insanely interesting books in the library, and so she had managed to pick up a few useful spells here and there.

Gabriel stirred slightly, letting out a groan. James spun around, his wand raised to fire a curse at him.

 _"Stupefy!"_ Christine shouted, hitting James square in the back. He collapsed, an astonished look on his face.

"Let's go!" Christine stumbled over to Gabriel, who was groggily looking around him.

"Wait, the sword…" He mumbled.

" _Accio Sword of Godric Gryffindor!"_ Christine raised her wand hopefully, from across the room she heard the noise of boxes falling and soon she saw the shiny sword coming toward her at full speed. She raised her hand and it landed neatly in her grasp.

"Okay, now let's go," she dragged Gabriel to the wall and thought of how desperately she needed to get out. The door reappeared in all its oaky splendor.


	20. A Good Night's Sleep

Chapter Twenty: A Good Night's Sleep

"What happened?"

As soon as she stepped out she was met by the concerned faces of Sherlock, Sam, Dean, Martha, and The Doctor. They all stared in horror at the blood staining her face and clothes. Gabriel was still leaning on her shoulder like a dead man.

"Thanks for the army guys, but you're going to draw attention to this," Christine passed off Gabriel to Dean, who looked less than unhappy at this job.

 _"Tergeo,"_ The Doctor pointed his wand at her, cleaning up the blood, "was that the _Sectumsempra_ spell?"

Christine looked down at her shirt and realized the gashes had also torn giant holes in the cloth.

"Yup," she sighed, feeling tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. The bravery she had shown in the duel with James had been fueled by rage and adrenaline, now she just wanted to curl up and cry.

"Where's this punk?" Dean cracked his knuckles.

"I cast a _stupefy_ spell and was out of there."

Dean and Sam stayed behind to try and get back in to find James while the rest of the party returned to their respective common rooms.

"I don't think we should do this tonight," The Doctor sighed, stopping in front of the Slytherin door, "you should get some rest. You and Sherlock should both be in the Slytherin commons to keep an eye on things. Also to make sure James or Lucifer don't kill Gabriel."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Christine thought longingly of her bed, just wanting to have a good night's sleep.

"Goodnight, sleep well," Martha approached and gave Christine a comforting hug.

* * *

"Are you going to play?" Christine asked, taking a sip of her warm tea and staring at the fire. Despite her best attempts, she had been unable to fall asleep. Gabriel had immediately disappeared into his room and was undoubtedly fast asleep in his bed. She and Sherlock were seated by the fire, he was tuning his violin within the sound bubble.

"Yes," he finished tuning and adjusted his position before beginning to play.

It was a beautiful song, Christine could have sat there and listened to it on repeat for hours. The phrases and dynamics pulled in and out like waves, and the _pianissimo_ of the high notes seemed to make them more magnanimous than _fortissimo_ ever could.

"Did you write that?"

"Yes," he put the violin down and leaned back in the chair, "I made it up just now."

"It's amazing."

He smiled and picked up the violin, continuing playing. Christine slowly drifted off to sleep on the couch, her dreams full of violin music.

When she woke up the next morning she found Mary seated next to her.

"You better get going on your homework, tomorrow is Monday," she warned.

"I've got more important things to do, Mary," Christine muttered to herself.

"What's that?"

"Nothing," she yawned and went upstairs to freshen herself up. Today was the day. She was going to kill the Basilisk. Or maybe Sherlock was. Or the Doctor. Or Dean. Who knows? Maybe they would all die.

After a shower and an hour or so of trying to conceal her dark circles, she finally returned to the commons, where she saw Lucifer and James huddled in a corner. She would have happily engaged in combat on the spot, but as she was raising her wand her arm was stopped.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Gabriel whispered in her ear.

James peered over to the side, making eye contact with Christine. She refused to look away, her eyes like daggers. He finally turned back to Lucifer nonchalantly and gestured in her direction. Lucifer turned and waved mockingly.

Christine flipped them off, at which Gabriel looked very proud.

"Get Sherlock, we're going."


	21. The Chamber of Secrets

Chapter Twenty-One: The Chamber of Secrets

After lunch, the small group of vigilantes gathered in the library to do some useful spell research and gather info about the chamber of secrets before trying to enter it.

They sat for hours, jotting down spells and information about the Basilisk. By the time Mycroft popped in to tell them it was time for dinner, they could have passed an exam on the chamber of secrets.

"We'll be out in a minute," Christine sighed and slammed a giant book shut, gathering up her notes and putting them in her bag. Gabriel and Sherlock did the same and soon the three of them were making their way into the great hall.

Christine split off to the Ravenclaw table.

"We're as prepared as we could ever be," she plopped down next to Sam, who was flipping through a book while eating.

"Good, Dean will be coming with you guys. Martha and Cas will be around to tell the teachers in case you don't make it back."

"Oh, that's a comforting thought," she stared at the food, suddenly realizing how hungry she was.

"Eat up," he glanced up, "you'll need your strength."

"By the way, did Dean and you find James last night?"

"Nope, he had already managed to escape when we came back in."

"Odd," Christine frowned, "I stupefied him. He should have been out for much longer."

"Lucifer probably helped him."

"Huh, I guess."

Christine focused on piling an obscene amount of food onto her plate and chatting with Sam and Martha to calm her nerves.

"Where's The Doctor?" She looked around and realized he was missing.

"He said he didn't feel like eating," Martha sighed, "he's still terribly upset about Rose. I'll just be glad when we finally get the thing that killed her."

"What're you going to be doing, Mycroft?"

He swallowed his food.

"Not getting killed, that's what I'll be doing."

"So you're not going to help us?"

"He's part of Plan B," Martha rolled her eyes, "if you guys aren't back soon enough, Mycroft and he will go in after in case you need assistance."

"Gotcha."

After dinner was over, one by one the large group stationed themselves in or around the Ravenclaw commons.

"I'm not sure what people will say about me having four guys in my room," Christine tried to lighten the mood by cracking a joke.

"Hey, you can have just one anytime," Gabriel winked.

"In your dreams."

"How did you know?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed the sword.

"Let's go."

It was a long climb and when they reached the top they found themselves in a small room full of bookshelves and assorted magical ornaments. Christine scanned the room, there seemed to be no other way out.

"What now?" Dean asked.

"I thought for sure..." she spun around frantically, hoping to see something that was chamber-of-secrety.

"Great, was this all just a waste of time?" The Doctor plopped down on a nearby stool, head in hands.

"No," she protested, "there's got to be some sort of hidden entrance."

Sherlock pushed past her, running his fingers along the side of the ornate bookshelves, suddenly one of them let out a loud click, swinging open with a groan that seemed to say, "I haven't been opened in thousands of years, thank you."

The Doctor looked up; despite his obvious efforts to hide them, Christine could see tears in the corners of his eyes. He saw the bookshelf and sprung up, wiping the stray salt water from his cheeks.

"Well, what the bloody hell are we waiting for? Let's go find the bastard that killed Rose."

The bookshelf opened into a long passage, it was so small they had to walk single file to fit. Suddenly the line came to an abrupt stop, the passage in front split into two narrow hallways.

"We have to split up," Sherlock sighed.

"Sherlock, Dean," Christine pointed to the tunnel on the right side, "You're with me. The rest of you, take the other one. If either of us run into a dead end go back and take the other one. If it splits into more tunnels just split the group again."

At this point, everyone had seemed to accept Christine as the group leader, which was rather funny considering she probably had the least comprehensive idea of what she was doing of everyone there.

"Sounds good to me," Gabriel shrugged, leading the march down the left side.

Christine took a deep breath and led her small band of brothers down the right side. They walked in silence for a few minutes before the tunnel stopped at an odd, circular door. It was beautifully engraved with the head of a woman, her hair made up of intricately carved snakes. She looked for a doorknob, only to find there wasn't one.

"Is it a dead end?" Dean questioned.

"No..." Sherlock approached the door, bending down and reading some strange runes carved at the bottom, "it can only be opened by a parselmouth."

"That's the snake language, isn't it?" Christine sighed, "You don't happen to speak parsel, do you?"

"No," Sherlock replied, "but it's already open."

He pushed on the door, which gave way a few inches with a slight groan. He handed the sword to Dean and he and Christine pushed it open completely.

They were greeted by the chamber of secrets.

It was a ginormous room with a long path through the middle, lined with lifelike gigantic carvings of snakes, hissing at those who dared to walk past them. At the opposite end was a stunning carving of a man's face, his mouth open and his long beard blending into the walls. A small amount of water sloshed about the floor and the drops from the ceiling created an eerie echo.

They climbed out of the small doorway, looking around in awe. How could this have been below the castle the entire time?

"How nice of you to join me," a sarcastic voice echoed throughout the room. Before they could react, a flash of light erupted from the speaker's wand, causing Dean to collapse.

"Oh don't worry," James rolled his eyes at Christine diving to help him, "it's only a stupefying curse. He's one of those "shoot first, ask questions later" types, they're not fun to gloat at. You two, on the other hand, prime candidates."

Sherlock and she raised their wands; Christine's hand was shaking so much that she feared she would drop it, but Sherlock stood rock solid. Like one of the statues lining the pathway.

"Take a walk with me?" James gestured to the long path, "We aren't even to the main room yet."

Cautiously Sherlock lowered his wand.

 _"What are you doing?"_ She hissed at him.

 _"Trust me."_

Christine recalled the last time she had trusted him, which hadn't ended well. Yet she still followed in suit, lowering her wand.

"I suppose you've guessed I'm the heir of Slytherin by now," James flamboyantly whipped his robes aside to lead them up the stone stretch.

"Naturally," Sherlock replied.

"Yeah," Christine concurred.

"Awfully sorry about that Rose girl," he didn't sound sorry in the slightest, "but you know how it is with mudbloods."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"You know, it was awfully rude of you to leave in the middle of our conversation yesterday," he continued, facing Christine, "things were just getting fun. You're rather entertaining."

They had arrived in front of the giant carving of the man.

Sherlock gritted his teeth; his eyes seemed to be erupting fire.

At that moment, Christine realized that the sword had been with Dean, and was, therefore, lying at the opposite end of the room. She silently cursed to herself, but she didn't know how to alert Sherlock without also informing James that they had no defense against the giant snake he may or may not put against them.

"What's the logic behind your argument, anyway?" She asked, trying to stall until she could come up with a plan, "there is no measurable difference between the quality of the magic of a muggle-born vs. a pureblood. The only thing that makes us different than muggles is our magic, and purebloods and muggle-borns are identical in that respect."

James looked at Christine condescendingly, his eyes scanning her entire person. She felt very uncomfortable. Once more she could practically hear Sherlock's blood boiling.

"Muggle-borns," he sauntered toward me, "are nothing more than talentless, lowly, less-than-human scum."

"Y'know, that just sounds like a lot of _ad hominem_ to me..."

James sighed impatiently.

"I really don't have time for your silly attempts to match my intellect," he took another step towards her but Sherlock stepped between the two of them.

"What intellect?" He spat, practically in James's face.


	22. The Fight

Chapter Twenty Two: The Fight

James scowled, giving Sherlock only a split second of consideration before firing a curse from his wand. Christine noted that he could cast spells without saying a word. And so could Sherlock. Without breaking eye contact, he responded to the green flash of light with some kind of magical barrier. The light bounced off, James dived out of its path, rolling onto the floor before scrambling back up.

"Clever," he admitted, "for a _mudblood_."

Sherlock lifted his wand, throwing a flash of green light at James, who expertly deflected it with a similar shield spell.

"As much as I enjoy dancing with you Shirley," James yawned, deflecting another curse, "you're boringly good at this. Unlike her."

Before she had time to think Christine saw a flash of light heading her way, Sherlock pushed her to the side, ducking to avoid the curse.

Then James then made a strange hissing sound, which Christine could only assume was parseltongue. She looked at Sherlock, comprehending what he was doing. He was summoning the Basilisk.

 _"Sherlock, the sword,"_ she whispered, her eyes gesturing to the slumped-over body of Dean, next to which lay the bejeweled sword.

He pulled her up by the hand, pulling her into a hug so James couldn't hear what he was saying.

"Touching!" James exclaimed, "Too bad you're going to die in a few minutes."

 _"When I let go, run,"_ he whispered, _"I'll hold him off while you get the sword. Try and wake up Dean if you can."_

Christine broke free from his embrace, her awkward feet tripping over themselves as she ran toward the sword. James must have assumed she was fleeing, as he burst out laughing.

However, he had hardly any time to enjoy the comical image of the poor girl running faster than her lack of coordination could keep up with because Sherlock began firing curses at him in rapid succession.

Christine didn't dare look back and kept running until she arrived at her destination. She collapsed on the ground, checking Dean's pulse to make sure he was still alive before retrieving the sword from his side.

She glanced back at Sherlock, realizing that she had no time to revive Dean. Adrenaline was probably responsible for her ability to carry the heavy sword and still be able to run back at full speed. And she was just in time. A terrifyingly giant snake was crawling out of the mouth of the carving of the man.

"Holy shit," she muttered, trying to steady her heart rate. She pulled up next to Sherlock, still locked in battle with James, who had just noticed the sword.

"Are you kidding me?!" He screeched, obviously not prepared for their preparedness.

Sherlock grinned at her; the same kind of fire in his eyes she had seen when they had chased after Lucifer's gang.

The snake slithered toward them, James shouted at it – more like hissed at it – giving it instructions to kill them undoubtedly. Christine raised the sword, not knowing how she was going to fight it other than "stab stab".

The Basilisk opened its mouth, revealing an absolutely terrifying set of fangs. With an uncharacteristic amount of bravery, Christine closed her eyes and rushed toward it, shoving the sword into its belly.

It didn't seem to make any difference other than enraging it. She pulled it out and ran to the side, drawing it away from the duelers. She climbed on top of a large protruding part of the wall, trying to get even with the creatures head while still avoiding looking it in the eyes.

It hissed and swung at her, trying to sink its fangs into her skin. She crawled into a small corner where its large face couldn't enter. It drew away in frustration and seeing her chance Christine sprung out and aimed a blow at its exposed neck.

Unfortunately, it didn't fall off at once. Blood sprayed from the wound and it hissed in pain, falling dramatically to the side. Christine jumped down, looking away and delivering the final blow to the creature's head.

"NO!" She heard James exclaim as she sputtered in surprise at her own success.

When she turned around, Christine saw the other half of the crime-fighting group had crawled through the door, Gabriel was pulling Dean off the ground and waking him up and The Doctor was staring in disbelief at Christine, who was covered in Basilisk blood.

But she had forgotten Sherlock.

He was dealing with the full fury of James, who couldn't stand that she had just killed his cold-blooded pet.

As talented as Sherlock was, there is always something about evil genius that lends itself extra credit on the able-to-kill-effectively front. For the most part, Sherlock could defeat anyone in a duel, but he wasn't dueling just anyone, he was dueling James Moriarty.

Under the spray of curses, he stood his ground well until he was hit full blast by one he failed to parry, sending him flying against the wall. Gabriel ran toward Sherlock and both James and The Doctor ran toward her.

Christine raised her wand.

"Stupefy!" She practically threw the spell at James but missed. He dived to the side and pulled a tooth out of the disembodied head of the Basilisk.

"Expelliarmus!" He shouted, casting the wand out of The Doctor's hand.

 _"Volita Celeriter!"_ He threw the tooth up in the air, dripping black blood. The spell he shouted sent it flying like a bullet toward Sherlock.

"NO!" It was Christine's turn to screech.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion. An evil grin spread across James's face as he collapsed, defeated, under the now retrieved wand of The Doctor. Christine ran, but it was like when you're dreaming and your legs are lead.

She pushed aside Gabriel, who was casting all the healing spells he could think of.

"Sherlock," she raised his head up to prevent him from choking on his own blood, "c'mon Sherlock, you're not gonna let a stupid little tooth kill you now are ya?"

She tried to hold back the tears, he spat out blood, pulling the tooth out and throwing it to the side. Christine took off her jacket-like robe and put it against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"I'll be fine," he promised, "you did brilliantly."

"No, you did," she sobbed, "you fired spells and dueled like a genius. I just stabbed and hoped for the best."

"You killed it though," he tried to force his eyes open, his speech was slurring, "you did brilliantly."

"C'mon Sherlock," she pleaded, "Please don't do this. Please."


	23. The End?

Chapter Twenty Three: The End?

You read about losing someone in books, you see it in movies, you watch your friends and family lose people and you comfort them through it – and yet you can never truly understand what losing someone means until you go through it yourself. To hold a friend dying in your arms with still so much left to say, so many more jokes to make, so many more fights and reconciliations to have is worse than being the one dying yourself. You convince yourself that it's all a bad dream. That you will wake up any minute now and everything will be okay, and that the decisions that led to that moment had never happened.

Christine looked around, not wanting to take her eyes off Sherlock, but also desperate to find something to save him. Hot, uncomfortable tears pushed their way out of her eyes, stinging like tiny drops of poison on her skin.

It was then she remembered.

Tears.

"Gabriel," she forced herself back into reality, calling to the nearest person. He leaned over, obviously not understanding – or refusing to understand – what was happening.

"Does anyone here have a phoenix?"

He looked at her in confusion.

" _Please_ , just tell me," she took a deep breath. If she was going to pull this off, she was going to have to calm down. Sherlock wasn't dead yet.

"Ye – yes..." he stuttered, wiping away the sweat from his forehead, "Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor Dumbledore," she repeated faintly, her hopes disappearing. How were we going to get Sherlock to Dumbledore before it was too late?

"Gabriel, phoenix tears cure the bite of a Basilisk," she whispered, "they cure it."

" _Apparition_ ," he muttered, "yes apparition… I know you can't do it on school grounds, but they lifted it for training so there must be a way. Doctor!"

The Doctor ran over, leaving Dean to keep James at wand point.

"You said you knew how to apparate inside Hogwarts. We need to get Sherlock to Dumbledore's office."

"Yes, yes! I do! Why?" The Doctor spluttered, still unsure how this would help.

"Oh, thank God," Christine nearly collapsed with relief.

* * *

"Where am I?" Christine rubbed her head as her blurry vision came into focus, not sure who she was addressing the question to. A familiar face loomed above, a stoic smile across his face.

"Sherlock!" She scrambled into sitting position, throwing an almost violent hug around his torso.

"Oh!" She realized she might have been putting unwelcome pressure on a wound, "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine," he assured her, taking a seat on the bed. As she looked around she realized they were in the infirmary.

"What happened?"

"The Doctor managed to apparate us into Dumbledore's office, where naturally he was shocked and angry that we would do something so stupid. Fawkes, his phoenix, obliged to give a few tears and I was suddenly perfectly healthy. You, on the other hand, chopped off a giant snake's head and promptly fainted at the sight of blood."

"That is _not_ what happened," she denied, "I _blacked out_ because she thought you were dying. I was being considerate."

"Being considerate would have been helping me," he teased.

"I knew about the phoenix tears, I did my job!"

He smiled in that almost sad way he tended to smile.

"I'm glad you're okay," Christine leaned forward, "and I'm really glad that stupid snake is dead."

"You and me both," he smirked.

"Hey, what's going to happen to James? Is there a kidz bop version of wizard prison?"

"Kind of..." he began slowly, "all I know is that he won't be anyone's problem ever again."

"Unless he breaks out," Christine countered.

"Which won't happen," Sherlock replied.


	24. Epilogue

Epilogue:

Christine looked over the moving newsprint. She could never get used to the images looking back at her. Some scowling, others laughing, all moving.

"Are you going to eat anything?" Sherlock leaned over to peer at her empty plate.

"I don't feel hungry," she responded distractedly, still focusing on the newspaper.

"What's the word?" The Doctor inquired, nibbling on a waffle.

"He's still at large. Man, I can't believe he actually escaped."

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you note any odd grammar errors that's probably because I converted this from first-person perspective to third, which was very hard considering its length. Please tell me about them if you see them.


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